


Bundeslihaha: Where Fussball Meets Fun

by Not Freibulous (AugustusFeuer)



Series: Bundeslihaha [1]
Category: Bundesliga - Fandom, Football RPF
Genre: 2. Bundesliga, Angst, Anthropomorphic, Art, Birthday, Bundesliga, Champions League, Crack Treated Seriously, DFB-Pokal, DFB-Pokal Frauen, DFL-Supercup, Der Klassiker, Drama, Dysfunctional Relationships, Embedded Images, Established Relationship, Europe, Explicit Language, Fanart, Fluff, Football, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, German Football, Germany, Gijinka, Het and Slash, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Inner Dialogue, Internal Conflict, Lots of Star Wars references in one chapter, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Smut, Not really RPF, Oktoberfest, Original Fiction, Parody, Past Relationship(s), Past Tense, Personification, Polyamory, Revierderby, Satire, Ship Tease, Soccer, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 33,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustusFeuer/pseuds/Not%20Freibulous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>COMPLETE // Ever wonder how football clubs would react at winning the treble, relegation, or a transfer to a rival club? Wonder no more! Born from the founders' love for the beautiful game, physical embodiments of Bundesliga clubs will answer all your questions.</p><p>(Main story. Non-linear. Rating's gone back to T because the sex and nudity are non-graphic and played for laughs.</p><p><b>Please read Chapter 40!</b>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [2014/15] New Season, Here I Come!

**Author's Note:**

> NOTABLE EDITS:  
> I posted "Paderborn to Win", the extension of the first chapter, as Chapter 2, so all chapter numbers will be +1.  
> Switched the order of "Jubiläum" and "Eyes on the Prize".  
> Deleted Chapter 31 ("Don't Worry, Love") to fit the "Freunde hinter Stacheldraht" arc.  
> Deleted Chapter 25 ("A Fortunate Encounter").

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paderborn joins the elites ready for the 2014/15 season and finds a group of clubs who know each other well awaiting him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clubs will all be referred to by their German names. So you’ll see Köln instead of Cologne, Nürnberg instead of Nuremberg, etc.
> 
> (Edited 30.5.17)

"Köln,"

The team also known as the Billy Goats inclined his head, meeting Paderborn's gaze with a rather bored one. "Yeah?"

Paderborn's voice dropped into a giddy almost-whisper. "Aren't you excited?"

Honestly, he was–he could still smell the beer in the team's sweat-laden jerseys and feel the water slicking his hair, but the euphoria was mostly replaced by determination–he was the winner of the first ever Bundesliga, after all. He would _love_ to repeat his old-time success.

"We're going to meet awesome teams like Bayern and Dortmund!" Paderborn continued, nudging him sharply on his side. He winced, but continued his stride to the conference room. It wouldn't do for him to be late on his comeback, after all...

"...Schalke and even Hamburger SV!"

Wow, he’d totally lost that. “What’d ya say?”

Paderborn pouted the kind of pout that could melt people like Freiburg in seconds. “You weren’t listening to me, were you? Fine.” The blue-clad young man stormed off to god-knows-where. Köln sighed. It was annoying enough that Paderborn assigned himself as his limpet, but the fact that it was his first time on the top of the pyramid made it even worse–2. Bundesliga clubs never had these (rather useless) pre-season meetings, much less in the heart of Berlin. Or was it _Heart of Berlin_?

“Paderborn,” he finally said through gritted teeth, readying himself for a run, “come back here!”

* * *

_freiburg_ist_frei: (photo) ’Nother day in Berlin–getting ready for new season of Bundesliga!_

“Not ‘new season of Selfions League’?” a snide voice remarked from behind the female personification, causing her to drop her smartphone. With two sharp moves, she had her phone back in her handbag and her red-and-yellow eyes locked with the other club's brown ones.

“Shut it, Stuttgart,” SC Freiburg snapped, “My social life is none of your business!”

“Ooh, scary,” VfB Stuttgart singsonged, “I’ll watch out for you in our next match–I want to look good in every filter!”

Suddenly, Hertha BSC let out a too-loud laugh, betraying her location behind a thick pole adorned with a majestic carving. The two rivals' heads snapped to her direction, Freiburg more surprised than the other. “Hertha!” she exclaimed, greeting the Berlin club with a friendly hug. “How are you?”

Hugging her friend back, Hertha replied, “I’m so happy to see you again, I really missed you!” Unlike most personifications–who, upon meeting, looked like they were out for each other’s necks, she sounded sincere. Maybe being Karlsruher SC's - Hertha's lover - fellow Badenian helped. “How are _you_?”

“I’m in the presence of VfB Sarcasm,” the Breisgauer replied, stealing a poisonous glance at the eye-rolling Cannstatter, “what do you think?”

“Aww, Frei,” Hertha said in a lower voice, “He’s not so bad.”

“Says Karlsruhe's whore,” Stuttgart muttered.

“She's being sarcastic,” Freiburg spat, "or are you just too dumb to understand that?"

“Maybe I am, maybe not.” the Swabian said flatly. “Anyway. How's it going for your boys, Old Lady?"

“They’re, well, you’d better be prepared for them!” Hertha said, more than a bit impressed at the Stuttgarter's attempt to be civil, "and you? Ready to lift the _Meisterschale_?”

“More than her, at any rate,” he laughed, pointing a derisive finger at the seething woman.

“How dare you!" Freiburg cried, clenching her fists, 1904% ready to sail into the jerk, because why not? She finished above him last season, she’d take any chance to do it again–

“Don’t,” Hertha stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Her touch, much like Karlsruhe's, felt cool and calming. The Freiburger took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her resentment dissipate into thin air. “Thanks, Hertha,” she said, warmth tugging the edges of her lips upward.

“Anytime," the capital club smiled back.

(At this exchange, Stuttgart ran to the bathroom to relieve himself of his breakfast.)

* * *

An hour later, eighteen club personifications were gathered in a spacious conference room, sitting in no particular order despite the old unspoken rules of sitting based on the league table. Dortmund and Schalke sat on different ends of the long table, Freiburg made herself comfortable beside Nürnberg (despite their ties with the two Revierderby duelers, but it's a story for another time), and so on.

As the host, Hertha decided to take the lead. After serving the guests berliners, of course. “Time for roll call!” she announced. “FC Augsburg!”

“’m ‘ere,” the ginger said between chews, raising his left hand.

“Bayer Leverkusen!”

“Present!” Leverkusen said, cheerful as ever.

“Bayern München!”

“Right beside you!” the current champion hooted.

“Borussia–“

Both Borussias said ‘here’ in perfect, though grudging, unison.

“Eintracht Frankfurt!”

Frankfurt blinked. Braunschweig wasn’t here anymore, he reminded himself. “Yeah! I’m right here.”

A fleeting look of sadness appeared in Hertha’s face, but she quickly buried her nose in the list, scanning for the next name… “SC Freiburg!”

“Hi, Hertha!”

“Hamburger SV!”

A few snickers greeted the rather… delicious name, but Hamburg’s glower quickly silenced them. “Here as always,” he said proudly, flashing a grin at the host.

“Hannover 96!”

“He’s not here, Hertha!” Braunschweig yelled in English, half-annoying his rival and half-annoyed at being ignored by his fellow Eintracht. “He’s still in bed with a…“

The punnily-named club stood up and glared at him. “If you say that word, Braunschweig –“

“… _Hannover_.”

“That does it!” Hannover roared, totally sick of that stupid joke and that little cretin–

Hertha cleared her throat loudly, putting a stop to the spectators’ discussion over the amount of money to be wagered (she could see Wolfsburg coolly fanning himself with a few hundred-Euro bills) for the bet that the Reds would win.

“Ehm,” she made sure her expression was perfectly composed, “Now, everyone, should I continue?”

“Please,” Hannover bit out.

“Okay,” she replied jovially. “1899 Hoffenheim?”

“Here,” the _Retortenklub_ said haughtily, winking at VfB, who rolled his eyes at his antics.

Hertha continued on. “Mainz 05!"

Mainz, resplendent in his newly-dyed black-red-gold hair, raised his right hand. “Present!”

Hertha nodded, but then noticed something: “Oh! I just skipped a name… 1. FC Köln?”

No answer.

The host sat and whispered to the club seated on her left side, “Werder, is Köln coming?”

Werder Bremen shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t know,” he answered. “Bayern, do you know where he is?”

“He said–“

_SLAM!_

The heavy wooden doors opened wide, revealing a panting man. “Did anyone call?”

Jeers welcomed the three-time champion as he made way to the seat between Freiburg and Schalke, but he paid his fellow Rhine clubs no heed.

“Listen, Nürnberg,” Köln said sharply upon arriving, “you're not supposed to be here."

"Leave her alone," Schalke growled, shielding his lover from the Rhine club and his disgusting pet.

“It’s okay, Schalke,” she said, pulling her seat for Köln, “it’s okay. We’ll meet outside after this, yeah?"

The Gelsenkirchener's jaw dropped, angry and disbelieving, but his girlfriend silenced him with a rueful smile. Reluctantly, he let her go. Even when Köln grumbled about couples and their sentimentality, his eyes never left the now-2. Bundesliga club until a minute after the doors closed behind her.

“Go on, Hertha," Schalke ordered, realizing he was being stared at, "don't just stare at nothing like a fucking idiot!"

Not wanting to be _Die Knappen_ 's proverbial punching bag, the Berliner quickly complied. “SC Paderborn!”

* * *

"Köööln!"

Paderborn cursed his luck for the umpteenth time that day, ordering his feet at maximum capacity to catch up with the other Aufsteiger, that bastard. “Where are you, _Scheißbock_?" he shouted, now cursing the lack of information on the walls of the grand building, "and where the hell is the meeting room?!”

“Paderborn?"

He started. “Who’s there?!”

A familiar face showed up. “Me,” Nürnberg replied, a confused expression on her face. “Why are you still here?”

He felt heat creeping up his cheeks. “Er, I got lost.”

“Oh,” the Franconian said, as if expecting his answer. He felt like burying himself. “Do you want me to take you there? It’s a bit far..."

Being seen walking with a girl as cute as Nürnberg was appealing, mouth-watering even, but for once, he wanted to be alone with his scattered, enthusiastic thoughts. “No thanks,” he replied, “just tell me where to go.”

Nürnberg looked like she’d expected that one as well. Thankfully, the explanation didn’t take more than thirty seconds. “Thanks again!” he cried as he sprinted to the elevator, not waiting for a reply, because he wasn’t gonna be late for his first Bundesliga gathering!

* * *

“Um, SC Paderborn…?” Hertha called for the fifteenth time.

“Just skip him!” Hoffenheim snapped, slamming a fist onto the table. He wasn’t the only one impatient for the actual gathering to start, though–Freiburg was uploading pictures to social media, and Schalke and Dortmund were turning the long table into a boxing ring, for example. (Don't get me started on Stuttgart. Please.)

Irritated at Paderborn’s absence herself, Hertha moved on to the next names on the list. “Schalke 04… here, Stuttgart and Wolfsburg, here too. And Braunschweig. Please get out this instant.”

“Yeah, fuck off!” Hangover, er, I mean Hannover, piped up.

Braunschweig didn’t need to be told twice. As he swaggered out the door, he whistled a final goodbye: "So long, suckers!”

“Now that (almost) everyone’s here… have fun!” Hertha exclaimed, welcoming them for the second time with literally open arms.

“Finally,” Stuttgart groaned, voicing the thoughts of the room's occupants.

* * *

As the holder of twenty-four _Deutscher Meister_ titles, Bayern München was envied, feared, hated, you name it. She was used to it–friends, especially of the football club kind; stab you in the back when they win. Humans weren’t much better, though–they regarded her with respect, some with the zeal of a diehard fan, but never quite with emotional closeness. But then again, she was used to it. She liked to view herself as an independent woman, one who never cowered in the face of danger–

 _Poke_.

Bayern turned to see the top of someone’s dark hair–and looked down; such was the (dis)advantage of being more than 1.8 meters tall–to see an unfamiliar face with a blue jersey. “Can I help you…” She looked down to his chest, “…SC Paderborn?”

Speaking of chests, Paderborn was currently gawking at hers.

“...Are you done?” she asked in her most intimidating voice, crossing her arms over her broad chest–if he wanted big boobs, he should’ve taken a look at Nürnberg’s.

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes shooting up to meet hers. “I-I’m sorry…” He stuttered, taking a hurried step back. “I-I didn’t mean to stare, I swear!”

She intensified her glare.

"Really! I was just wondering… I’m new here, and I…” He sighed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Um, are you really Bayern München?”

Mixed feelings came at those words. “What,” she snarled, taking the most common cause of surprise in people who just met her, “you didn’t expect me to be a woman?”

Paderborn shook his head furiously. “No, no, I didn’t mean that! I’m just… I’m so thrilled to finally meet you in person!” He cried, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “I mean, you’re really awesome! How can you win so much?”

Practiced ‘fan mode’ took over her. “Would you like to know?” she asked, a friendly, yet proud grin lighting her previously stern face.

“Absolutely!” Paderborn hollered. Bayern patted him on the back, the tactician inside readying herself for a field day. “Then I’ll show you how.”

* * *

  * The _Meisterschale_ is the Bundesliga trophy.
  * _Deutscher Meister :_ ‘German champion’.
  * Hertha Berlin and 2. Bundesligist Karlsruher SC and Schalke (BL) and Nürnberg (2. BL) have a fan friendship, which means they're lovers in the story ;)
  * Freiburg (South) and Karlsruhe (North) are both from the Baden region of Baden-Württemberg (which means they are cousins!), so Hertha is nice to Freiburg.
  * Braunschweig and Hangover... I mean Hannover are derby rivals/arch-enemies, due to their both being located in Lower Saxony. (Of course, no one cares about Volkswagen-backed club Wolfsburg.)
  * Speaking of corporate clubs, they're called Retortenclub/verein or Werksclub/verein in German. They are infamous for having "no tradition" and being exceptions to the holy 50+1 Rule (a minimum of 50%+1 of the club must be owned by its member, so it can't be owned by a single entity like PSG, for example), which makes Bundesliga more financially stable and community-minded than other leagues. These so-called "plastic clubs" are Bayer Leverkusen (heavily funded by Bayer AG), VfL Wolfsburg (Volkswagen), 1899 Hoffenheim (Dietmar Hopp, SAP's CEO), FC Ingolstadt (Audi), and Germany's most hated club, RB Leipzig (Red Bull, obviously!). Hannover 96's financial backer, Martin Kind, is also against the 50+1 Rule. The fans don't take it too well.
  * Regional rivals usually don't consider matches against these "plastic clubs" a derby.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Whoo! One episode down, many more to go! Writing this was great fun, and I hope it extends to you reader(s)! If not, how can I improve? Any character requests? Please let me know!
> 
> Until next time!


	2. Paderborn to Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m so thrilled to finally meet you in person!” Paderborn cried, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “I mean, you’re really awesome! How can you win so much?”  
> Bayern grinned. “Would you like to know how?”  
> “Absolutely!” he hollered.  
> “Then I’ll show you how.”
> 
> ("New Season, Here I Come" part two - in SCP's point of view.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited 18.1.16)

Bayern München wasn't as nearly as intimidating as Paderborn had thought. She smiled a lot- okay, more like _smirked_ , but he found that he liked her perfect white teeth, the way her stretched lips softened her sharp jawline. She was surprisingly friendly, too, and guided him through every topic with ease, but do you know what the coolest thing was? Bayern freaking München was talking to him in  _private._ Damn, he couldn't stop the heat creeping into his cheeks when he felt her side against his!

Okay, it was kinda embarrassing to admit - even to himself- that he'd love to have a physique like hers: tall, athletic, muscular.... (The Westphalian felt his blush getting stronger at this thought.)  But it didn't hurt to dream, right?

"Hey, I haven't said congratulations," Bayern said, interrupting his fantasies. He jumped in surprise at the cool touch of her fingers. "Eh- I- thanks," he stuttered, looking at anything but her eyes, not her eyes, _not her eyes..._

So his eyes fell on the tattoo adorning her collarbone. _'Mia san mia',_ he read silently, _we are who we are._ The philosophy that drove Germany’s number one club to success. How could something as simple as unity, a familial connection between players, board members and fans be so… _powerful?_

"Paderborn," Bayern called, not-so-gently shaking him. "What's wrong?"

He bit his lower lip, feeling small, eyes darting from Bayern's face to her cleats. "Nothing,"

"I don't think so," the Bavarian giant replied. "Is something bothering you?"

He racked his mind for something to say, _anything_ but his increasingly weird thoughts, really... "I... You... you haven't told me… your, um, secret...?"

"My secret?" Bayern echoed, a red eyebrow rising in incredulity. "I have plenty of secrets, Paderborn," she said, crossing her sinewy arms over her chest. "And I don't think I want to share any of them."

"No," he cried in panic, "it's not that kind of secret!"  _Ah, dammit! Come on, Paderborn!_  He tried to paste a conspiratorial grin on his face, but it ended up as a grimace. "It's... um, the one I asked you on the gathering." He held her gaze as an apprentice would his master. "How... how could you win so much?"

Bayern's eyes widened for a split-second before she burst with laughter. "Oh, sorry," she shook her head, "I almost forgot!" And he laughed with her, feeling his tenor and her alto intertwine in the air. The accented staccatos smoothed into a free-flowing legato that built up into a crescendo-

But without a cue, she stopped their duet, ending the moment as quickly as it began.

"Now listen," she said, leaning in so close he could feel her breaths sending chills down his spine. He shrunk under her shadow, feet melting into jelly until the next words came...

"I'll tell you my secret."

The newly promoted club fell silent, inside and out, at the sheer power in the reigning champion's voice. Inhaling slow, steady breaths, he wanted to be ready to take in whatever she had to say, even if it involved killing kittens or burying himself for a year or even retiring from his singing 'career'-

"Control," she answered, ice blue eyes rooting him in place, "the key is control."

He frowned. Control. _Domination_. It couldn't get more Bayern than that.

"You need your players unrestrained," she continued, painting a picture of a full training ground of red and white inside his head, "playing with the right amount of order and instinct... in the opponent's half."

A busy attack; a quiet defense. All with a versatility a 2. Bundesliga club could only imagine. He wondered if the boys could do that.

 _They can!_ he told himself. _If we stay in the first tier,_ _we_ _can._

"Only then, SC Paderborn..." Her voice lowered when she said this, finally unveiling the beast under the deceptive beauty, "you can take your game to the next level."

Her last words played in his head on loop, paving way for a thousand possibilities- using another formation, rotating players based on their individual talent and uniting them as one team... A win couldn't be far, he thought, and he's gonna beat everyone into a pulp!

"Anything else?" she asked, bursting his bubble of imagined victories. But it didn't matter, not when he could envision a bright future for himself with all this information! "Tell me what you think about the 4-1-4-1 formation," he replied, anticipation swallowing his nervousness whole, “and how I can maximize it with the players I have.”

"4-1-4-1?" The beast hid once more when she flashed him a dazzling smile, her enthusiasm mirroring his. "Why not?"

Rubbing his palms together, he couldn't help but think this: Breitenreiter would be so proud of him when he got home!

 

Bonus:


	3. Of Red and Yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a rather... 'controversial' topic [aka BVB/FCB transfer issues], strong language, and violence. But please, have no fear. Because fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. And hate leads to suffering. Of the dark side, it is. And I'm writing this for fun, so take that what you will :D this dark-sidey stuff won't last long, anyway.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Bundesliga, its clubs, or anything else except for my characters and the plot.
> 
> P.S.: Oh! And this chapter is a gift for Bundesliga (particularly BVB) fans out there - I know you miss your fave clubs, and after Germany's loss to Poland, I'm sure you'd love to see brighter news!
> 
> (Edited 22.4.16)

August 7, 2014

 

It was a normal (albeit a lazier one) day off for Borussia Dortmund- mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a remote control on the other, flicking through random TV channels. He wasn't trying to watch anything in particular, but if he could catch some cycling event or variety show-

Wait. He thought he'd just seen someone familiar on a certain sports channel- he quickly tuned into it, and lookie! An all-too-familiar face... but not an all-pleasant one.

He scowled, tightening his fist around the mug's handle until his knuckles turned white. "Rumenigge,"

"...And what do you think about Marco Reus?"

The reporter's question made it worse. That bastard had better answer it wisely, or he'd have to wish for a quick death...

"He is... certainly an interesting player," the chairman stated.

"Interesting player your ass," Dortmund spat, recalling the recent (and not-so-recent) defections of two of the BVB Power Trio. And to think Lewy had scored quite a feat, even on his first month with Bayern!

 _Not_ with _me, Dortmund,_ her voice slithered into his head, swirling in cold triumph that chilled him to the bone, for _me._

 _Shut up, you thief,_ he shouted inwardly, wrestling the unwelcome intrusion out of his mind, _shut the fuck up!_

 _Oh, I will,_ she replied, ice-blue eyes glinting with malice, _I will, Borussia.... when you get what you deserve._

_What do you mean by that?!_

She smirked. _Watch the TV._

Dark eyes snapped open to see Rumenigge blathering about something... involving... Watzke? His boss? And... and transfer policies... _his_ transfer policies?!

Not quite believing his eyes, he rubbed them and downed half of the potent, caffeinated drink.

"...€25 million for a release clause," he paused for dramatic effect, "dangerous, isn't it?"

Dortmund spat out his coffee. "'What the _fuck_ do you mean by that?!" _Any idiot can see your intentions from kilometers away!_

 _See?_ she gloated. _I love it when you get mad, by the way._

Shaking his head, the 104-year-old refocused on the news.

"I see that Reus interests you... but he interests Manchester United and Liverpool as well. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Marco's not interested in you," Dortmund said.

_Really?_

He slammed his mug onto his table, no longer listening to Bayern's imaginary cackle or Rumenigge's answer. "That's it," he snarled, stabbing the off button with unnecessary force, "I'm going to Munich."

* * *

Dortmund gritted his teeth, heavy breaths accompanying his boiling blood despite the pleasant flight. His snacks untouched, his turbulent mind turned in for a moment. A moment to vent his anger, a preparation for the incoming storm.

A storm that rolled in the distance with the promise of death and arrived in a flash of lightning and thunder. A storm that stole the lives from his Team, from his soul. A storm that was Bayern München.

He entered the dark landscape on his mind. His footsteps echoed in the no-man's land, breaths coming out in hot puffs the more he walked.

"Getting tired, Borussia?"

He tensed. "Bayern?" No answer, save the eerie silence. "Show yourself, b-"

"No need for such foul language, Dortmund," the sickly sweet voice chided. "Accept your destiny as an eternal runner-up."

His nostrils flared. "How dare you-!" he raised his fist, hoping the coward would, well, cower-

But the eyes meeting his weren't a merciless ice blue.

They were dark, almost black against their owner's pale skin, and they were full of fear.

And even worse- they mirrored his.

He instinctively stepped back. "Who- who are you?!"

The woman's lips parted to answer him, but Dortmund couldn't hear a sound. All he could use was his sight, and everything was distorting around the black and yellow-clad apparition...

But no matter how confused, how angry he felt, Bayern's voice made a clear entrance into his ears. "Thanks for the cup!"

In the background, he could make out Mitch falling to his knees in defeat under the post, the ball rolling casually behind him. He screamed-

While she laughed, and laughed, and laughed...

And he jolted awake.

"Sir, we have arrived in Munich," a feminine voice said, laying a tentative hand on his left shoulder.

"München," he groaned, cracking stiff joints as he opened his eyes, "I'm coming."

"Yes, Sir, you are," the flight attendant confirmed unnecessarily.

Groggily, he nodded. "Thanks for the information,"

"You're welcome, Sir."

With loud taps of high heels, she disappeared into the crowd.

And with a new alertness, the Dortmunder fully realized just what she'd said; lips pursing into a thin line, he clenched his fists and stood up.

* * *

A certain Münchner looked at her reflection, seemingly unsatisfied with something.

She 'hmm'ed, brushing her bangs back with her fingers, and shook her head. "I need a haircut," she muttered, her free hand reaching for her scissors. "Or maybe just a trim...?"

The Bavarian regarded her mirror image thoughtfully. She wasn't beautiful. Not conventionally, at least. But - not that she would admit it out loud - she was rather... handsome. A wide forehead, high cheekbones, a hooked nose and a defined jaw... Traditionally, male personifications were taken far more seriously than female ones, especially those who kept their looks sharp, like Real Madrid. So... haircut, then? But she'd had long hair for so long, she didn't quite want to leave the sensation of weight on her shoulders.

With a jolt, she cussed. This wasn't going anywhere! Who cares about hairstyles? She was the physical embodiment of Germany's biggest club, not a camera darling, and she was the Star of the South, at that. Looks would be no consequence if she could win another treble.

With that settled, she cut the hanging red strands off her head.

* * *

Bayern smiled, running her fingers through her hair. Now all she needed was a shower...

After disposing of the undesirable DNA samples on the floor, she snatched her towel from her hanger and made her way to the bathroom.

* * *

"Ah!" Bayern sighed in content, eyes open wide as she exited the cool cubicle, the remaining water sticking her hair to all directions after a (much easier) toweling session.

Now she only needed to get ready for her, ehm, _date..._

She chuckled. Bochum must be having a fit if she were to see her right now, barely dressed with short-cropped hair and no makeup.

"He'll set his eyes on another if you keep this up," the older club would say for the millionth time, hands on his hips as he tried to give her a best-friend-pep talk (pun not intended), "most men are like that. If you don't show your cleavage once in a while, they'll think you're not worth their attention."

And she would laugh at his words, because... "Aren't you a man too, Bochum?"

_Bang bang bang!_

Bayern snapped out of her thoughts. Could it be him? She didn't like to generalize, but he was a Spaniard; he didn't have her impeccable timing-

_Bang bang bang!_

"Coming!" she shouted, annoyed. So uncharacteristic of him not to call her first...

Sprinting to her closet, she made up her mind - she would simply wear whatever was on top.

Ah. Her third jersey - she slid into the red-blue-gray-striped tee - and navy jeans. Those would do.

When she was sure the jeans was on, she put on her socks and boots, ignoring the new flats Sechzig had so _kindly_ bought her.

Then she brushed her hair, parting it on the left, clipped her bangs for the special occasion and voila! - she stuffed her wallet, cellphone and other stuff into a sling bag - she was ready to go.

She sprinted to the door, and without bothering to look into the peephole, she opened it, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, Barça, I-"

She stopped short at the sight of her guest. "You-"

A large fist hit her face, and her body fell to the ground with a loud thud. Wincing from the pain, she looked up to see a pair of burning coals.

Blinking back tears, she held her gaze squarely against his. "What do you want, Zecken?"

"I want you to stop," the Ruhr giant said threateningly.

The Bavarian raised an eyebrow. "Stop what?"

Dortmund's face couldn't get redder, or uglier, even if he tried. "Stealing my players. Or attempting to."

Bayern snorted as she stood up. "I don't 'steal' your players, Dortmund. There was always a negotiation."

" _Negotiation_?!" he yelled, not believing her words. "Football isn't some kind of business you could milk out cash from!"

She coolly straightened the wrinkles on her shirt and closed the door. "I never said it was. But Lewy- or whoever the hell you're referring to- chose to join our team."

At the mention of the defecting player, he snapped. "He. Didn't. Choose you!"

He lunged at her for the second time, but she'd anticipated the attack. Twisting Dortmund's right hand, she turned him around and stepped on the back of his knee, forcing him to stay down. Before she could get a hold on his other limbs, though, he'd pulled his hand free and rose- "Come back here!"

But Bayern had run to the depths of her home, and she was nowhere to be seen.

_Unless..._

Dortmund carefully stepped into her small living room, looking around for signs of movement.

The wind from the air conditioner rustled the red/white curtains, but nothing more. The couches were clean, the TV was off, and the carpet- which proudly held the club crest- was littered with sport magazines and a lone newspaper.

He let out a small groan. He ruled out the dining room as well, as it was the most exposed- and moved on to another side of the apartment- one full of Bayern München memorabilia. Mini trophy replicas, scarves, photos (and selfies) with the team, you name it. He wanted to tear them apart. Burn it. Send this whole apartment into oblivion.

But something stopped him from doing so.

And that something sounded like... like the door being knocked.

Dortmund thought about hiding for a second, but he remembered something- he could get back at her, but he had to be fast.

He half-unbuttoned his shirt and threw his belt on the floor. And then his footwear. After that, he mussed his hair, wrinkled his sleeves, and stole a look in the mirror... _Perfect_. With that said, he dashed to the door and opened it.

* * *

Barcelona hummed to himself, flowers swinging with every springy step as he made his way to his lover's home.

Not only he wanted to congratulate her for her boys' _phenomenal_ World Cup win, he also wished to fulfill his promise- that he'd treat her to, well, not exactly fancy food, but certainly her favorite: beer and 'Today's Special' pasta. And of course, he'd prepared her a 'Today's Special' surprise...

A minute later, he arrived before her door. His finger moved to press the doorbell, but then he remembered that it was broken, thanks to her most recent text. So he knocked.

And knocked.

He tried his best to keep them soft, but after three minutes it was kinda overkill. So he decided to give her a call; maybe she was sleeping...?

The door opened slightly. But it wasn't Bayern's head that peeked out, it was... Dortmund's? _What?_

"Er, is Bayern home?" Barça asked, kinda freaked at the presence of her archenemy.

"Yeah," Dortmund panted as he fully opened the door, "come in."

Barça noticed that something was off. "No offense, Dortmund, but you look like you've just got out of bed."

The guilty's eyes widened. "How do you know?"

The size of Barça's eyes gave Dortmund's a run for his money. "Wait, what? Are you staying at Bayern's?!"

Dortmund leaned into him conspiratorially. "Well, I was planning to leave this morning, but..." he lowered his voice, "you know how she is in the early hours..."

Dark blue eyes narrowed suspiciously as they regarded the disheveled man in front of him. All evidence pointed at him making a move on his girlfriend - it was common for personifications to sleep with fellow football clubs (as humans had 'lower endurance' or whatever, he didn't really care) - but _Bayern München_ and _Borussia Dortmund_?

 _It's a prank,_ he thought. _It's just a silly joke._ He had no idea what Dortmund was planning, but he might as well play along... it'd make a nice surprise!

He crossed his fingers, hoping that it wouldn't backfire.

"Barça!"

He perked up and saw Bayern, dressed in, surprisingly, not her jersey, but a vermillion dress with a cut that subtly accentuated her good stuff. Whew! And as if she couldn't get more alluring, she had her hair cut short. But he couldn't let her distract him. Just this once...

"Barça, I can explain!"

He furrowed his eyebrows, putting a show of crumpling the flowers on his left hand, where she could see it. "Explain what?" he snapped.

Bayern shot Dortmund a hateful look. "I didn't sleep with him!"

"You didn't?" Barça sneered, though in actuality he was stifling a laugh. _I believe you, dear, but can't we have a little fun?_

"Why would I?!" Bayern yelled. "I'd rather lick Augsburg's feet than sleep with this- this-" she stopped herself, chest heaving with every profanity she hadn't said...

But Barcelona had left the scene. Upon noticing this, she sprinted to the elevator (oh, was she lucky she still wore her boots!), anger melting into panic as her heart pounded on her ribcage.

"Barça!" she called out, voice ringing in the narrow corridor as she saw the elevator doors close, "Barça, wait!"

"Goodbye, Bayern," he said, casually leaning on the wall.

"Barça!" she cried, and _shit shit shit faster faster faster..._ ha! With lightning speed, her index pushed the open switch... but it was too late.

Hot tears stung her eyes, but she was past caring. She let them flow, burning her cheeks as she clenched her fists, waiting for the bumblebee bastard to come to his agonizing demise...

"Are you still alive?"

Bayern looked up to see Sechzig reluctantly offering her a hand, eyebrows furrowed so deep they left an almost permanent mark on her forehead.

"I've dealt with Borusse," she said brusquely, pulling the younger club up with a force only an archenemy could manage, "he's probably screaming his head off in Borsigplatz by now."

Bayern said nothing; the only way her _sister_ could make _Lüdenscheid_ scream was via rough sex.

"What's the ruckus, by the way?" the raven-haired Münchner asked as they walked back to Bayern's apartment, "Barça finally saw you as the slut you really are? From the looks of it, I think you were on top of my ex last night."

"Shut up, Sechzig."

"Everyone knows you have the hots for Lover Boy... I have no idea why Barcelona pretended to-"

Her speech was cut short by a fist to her jaw, and boy, was it a hard punch.

"Barça," Bayern said sharply, "is none of your fucking business!"

The door slammed shut.

Sechzig rolled her eyes as she turned on her heels, all too excited to return to her apartment. "You're welcome!"

* * *

The clanking of booted feet against metal rang in the emergency staircase as Bayern desperately looked for an escape, football in hand.

"Dortmund," she growled, praying with every breath for his humiliation on his home ground next Supercup, "I'll make you pay for this,"

 _Clank. Clank. Clank._ White fingertips pressed tighter into the ball. "I swear on Klopp's goddamn ass, Dortmund..." she paused, skipping several steps at a time as the need for revenge ran through her veins, strenghtening her fire, "my boys will make you wish you were never born."

 _Clank. Clank. Clank_. The rhythm of Bayern's feet echoed her heartbeat, quickening with every step taken. Gone was the heartbroken girl - this was Bayern München at top form.

And finally, she was at her destination. With a kick, she threw the emergency door open. Sunlight flooded her sight, a contrast from the dimly-lit staircase.

And she wasted no time. Throwing the ball, she quickly bounced it back up with her chest. The ball was up again - and a header was its answer this time. Then she let it fall to her thigh. Left. Right. Left. Right. And to the feet... another header, and Bayern made a cross - _intercepted by herself there... what a world class possession... jinx left, jinx right, the newly-minted striker left the defenders dumbfounded and she_ _shoots for the goal-!_

"Whoa!"

_But it wasn't in! A brilliant save by FC Barcelona! The record-breaking Catalonian goalkeeper did it again!_

"Bayern, that was..."

_Wait! She's just enraged, what a save that was... Good grace, she's on to the keeper! What, exactly, is going on?_

"Don't. Say. A word."

Barça nodded silently.

"You came here to apologize, huh?"

He nodded once more and rolled the ball back to the 'field'.

She nodded approvingly and began juggling. "Got some beer?"

He chuckled. "Of course," he replied, and paused, hands travelling to his back pocket, "Oh, and flowers." He produced a small bouquet with the cursive _Weltmeister Samma_ and grinned.

"Flowers," she echoed as her head sent the ball shooting two meters into the sky, "do you..." a meter high now, "still think..." now a free fall, "...I need those?" The ball rested in her hands, satisfied with its master's control.

Tinges of red appeared in Barça's sun-kissed cheeks. "Well, I thought..."

Bayern laughed heartily at his awkwardness. "Come here, silly,"

Before he could say anything, her lips devoured his. And with his reciprocating her move, peace was guaranteed... until they met in the Champions League, of course.

* * *

August 13, 2014

 

The whistle signaled the end.

The winners celebrated.

And the losing side went home with heads bowed low.

Its embodiment, though, refused to be tamed with one loss. She broke through the bonds also known as a social filter and the blocking hands of her friends and into the tribune.

“Dortmund!” she bellowed, storming to the stadium’s not-quite-owner, missed chances flashing before her crimson-tinted sight as she pushed the horde of black and yellow out of her way, “We’re not finished yet!”

The other half of _Der Klassiker_ , naturally, heard her, but he much preferred to revel in their victory, however small she would claim it had been. Parading around in the goalscorer’s Spiderman mask, he decided not to deign her with a response.

“Look at me, Zecken!” the tone of her voice had risen to an unimaginable pitch, silencing the people on her two-meter-radius, but he wasn’t inside that little circle, was he?

_B-V-B! B-V-B! B-V-B!_

He joined in the chanting and swerved between large flags and other such trinkets, punching the air above his head, trying his best to blend in.

But alas, her hawk eyes caught the unique moniker and number on his back. No one else could claim the name of _Borussia 09 Dortmund_ , after all.

Risking a glance behind his shoulder, he could see that Bayern was chasing him. Relentlessly. And she would certainly do Robben proud with that speed! Snapping back into focus, he mapped the safest route back to his team and started his little mission.

* * *

Nat was still cheering on top of her lungs for Dortmund’s awesome performance–ignoring her boyfriend’s grumbling about how _boring_ football was–until a red and blue-clad woman rudely pulled her limited edition scarf.

“Hey!” she cried, trying to get it back, but then she stumbled to the end of the stand and oh her heart felt like falling into her gut–

Wiry hands held her back, and she let out a long sigh of relief. “ _Danke_ , Michael..."

“No more watching football in the stadium, Nat.”

And just like that, her wonderful day went downhill for the Westfalenstadion to see.

* * *

Bayern wrapped her lower face with the stolen scarf, hoping she would catch Dortmund off guard. _I hope Pep's too busy mourning the loss,_ she prayed. Being left alone at the opposition's home wasn't her preferred way to spend the afternoon. Little did she know...

Dortmund's 'little mission' turned out to be more fun than expected. Bayern hadn't found him, and she wouldn't. _Not until I take this Emma costume off,_ he grinned devilishly, not caring in the least about the original mascot's body odor,  _3:0 for Borussia Dortmund!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bayern and Bochum have (had?) a fan friendship. Bayern and Barcelona do not, but their ties to Pep Guardiola bonds them.
> 
> How about Sechzig and Dortmund? Yes, you guessed right, it's a forgotten fan friendship! Let's give you a round of applause. ;)
> 
> 'Mitch': Mitchell Langerak, one of Borussia Dortmund's goalkeepers.
> 
> 'Lewy': Robert Lewandowski, Bayern's newest Number 9. He used to play for Die Borussen.
> 
> Herr: German for 'Mr'.
> 
> Sechzig (roughly pronounced 'zeksich'): German for 'sixty', Bayern's nickname for TSV 1860 München, a 2. Bundesliga club. Due to their sharing Allianz Arena, they also shared an apartment room... but now, with 1860's finance stabilizing, she was given added allowance, and she wasted no time in spending it.
> 
> (please don't ask about the stadium's anatomy, I don't know how else the scene would work.)
> 
> Emma: BVB's mascot.
> 
> This chapter is based on Karl-Heinz Rumenigge's trolling BVB about Reus on an interview (I took creative liberty with the dialogue though ;p) and Dortmund's following DFL-Supercup victory. Kinda like a 'Take that!', wasn't it?
> 
> Anyway, if you have any questions, critique, requests, or whatever, feel free to tell me!
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Lewaddawski


	4. Interlude: Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're always excited if a matchday - or simply a match - is coming, no? So are these guys for the upcoming game against Poland!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to the fourth chapter of Bundeslihaha! Or should I say, Euro 2016 Quahahahalification?
> 
> Warning: Someone has a potty mouth for a few paragraphs. And I'm not a commentator, much less an analyst, so feel free to correct any inaccuracies at the last part.
> 
> (Edited 17.11.16)

Leverkusen, North-Rhine Westphalia

October 11, 2014

 

"...sometimes I can't help but think..."

"That Bundesliga is just Bayern and Dortmund?"

Stuttgart crossed his arms on his chest, eyes fixed on the imposing yellow-clad man who was, in his not-so-humble opinion, not so imposing anymore. "Dortmund?" He scoffed. "You must be kidding me."

Werder Bremen shook his head ruefully. "You know, I remember when we were the Big Two," he said, propping his chin with one hand as his face relaxed, mind taken to the good old days, "winning the title in Munich was one of the happiest day of my life."

"And now you're at the bottom of the table," Stuttgart deadpanned. "How does it feel?"

Pouting, Werder's hands flew to the older club's neck. "It hurts like this," he mock-threatened, squeezing his hands around it playfully. Its owner, though, simply raised an eyebrow at the Green-Whites. "Not like _this_?"

Werder's eyes bulged out of their sockets as Stuttgart's fingers trolled his nerve ends, up and down his sides and _oh my god not the back of the neck-!_

He held his breath, squirmed and did everything to escape, but he could no longer contain the laughter bubbling inside him. "Stuttgart... stop it..." he tried to sound mad, to just make him stop, but he couldn't move a muscle! And... and-

"HAHAHAHA- Stuttgart! _STOP!_ Dammit! I- _STUTTGART!_ _I'M BEGGING_ _YOU!"_

But his attack didn't stop. If anything, it only intensifi- _hahahahaHAHA!_

"Stuttgaaaaaaa-" A gasp. "I-" Another. "Heeeeeelp meeee! Dooooortmuuuund!" And another. " _Eeeeeeefzeeeeeeeh_! Scha- _hahahahaaalkeeeee_!"

Three pairs of eyes regarded Werder for a second... before they went back to betting with the Royal Blues, who was putting an obscene amount of cash on Leverkusen's coffee table.

"Nooooooo! Please! _Köööööln!_ "

Shaking his head, Köln dragged Stuttgart off the hysterical personification, who immediately let out a long, relieved sigh. The three-time champion then turned to Stuttgart and asked, "Wanna bet too?"

The remorseless tickler grimaced. "Does anyone here think _Poland_ will win?"

Dortmund, who knew what Piszczek and Lewandowski could do, discreetly looked away, but Schalke's brusque answer caused him to perk up again.

"No."

At the same time, Bayer Leverkusen entered the living room with drinks. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his soft voice a stark contrast to Schalke's bass.

Stuttgart rolled his eyes, but before he could deliver a particularly irritating quip, Werder cordially invited the host in. "No, not at all!" he said brightly, "Can I have one, by the way?"

The _Werkself's_ smile could light up cities if need be. "Sure!"

Throat dry from his recent exertion, the Bremen club downed the lemonade in seconds. "Ah!" he exclaimed, slamming the glass onto the floor, "thank you, Levi!"

"You're welcome, Werder!" Leverkusen replied, handing the drinks to Stuttgart, Köln, Schalke and Dortmund respectively.

And there was comfortable silence as the guests drank.

* * *

Half an hour ago...

 

Bayer Leverkusen _hated_ hosting events.

Absolutely hated it.

But when Freiburg, that cursed little goody two shoes, begged him to - _"Watching Nationalelf alone doesn't have the same atmosphere!" she'd whined over the phone. "Please! I missed_ all _of you..."_ \- how could he, the friendliest, _cutest_ (he laughed inwardly as he recalled the Badenian's description - he looked like a miniature Stefan Kießling, for fuck's sake!) guy in the Bundesliga, refuse _the most lovable club in the Bundesliga_? So he'd worn his sweetest smile and agreed. The others hadn't been so easily convinced, though. Bayern, for one, insisted on watching the game live as she had players on both sides, and Köln, despite his relative patience, called him out on his "plastic kindness"...

_"Stop it, Bayer."_

_Leverkusen paused; no one had called him by his owner's name for quite a long time._

_"You shouldn't call me if you don't want me to come," Köln snapped. "_ I _don't want to come, either. I'm watching with the guys."_

 _It took all his will not to slam his phone, get up and throttle his fellow Rhine club in person._ Take a deep breath, Leverkusen, _he ordered himself,_ take lots of them. _Saying 'screw it' to his operator, he started counting._

_One..._

_"Bayer."_

_Two..._

_"Listen."_

_Three. Four. Five._

_"I don't like you,"_

_Six. A sigh from his rival. Seven. Eight. Nine._

_"But I'll tell you this,"_

_Ten._ He frowned. "What?"

_"Freiburg doesn't like you, either."_

Now he did slam his phone, and it made a satisfying clatter as its contents burst out of their casing.

Damn goat. What in the world had possessed him to come? Had he been bluffing when he said he wanted to watch the game with his team?

 _Probably yes,_ logic answered, _because who in their right mind prefers a goat to a hot WAG_?

 _Not me,_ he replied, feeling his lunch rise to his throat at the mental image. _It'll stink._

The thought of odor snapped Leverkusen back to the real world. And it was about time - thick smoke was seeping out of his oven, filling the kitchen. He covered his nose and mouth with a hand, but it was too late - the smell of burnt cookies assaulted his nose and his mouth and his throat...

With every cough, a cent would go to his Swear Jar.

* * *

"Fucking oven," he hissed, "can't you do anything right?!"

As if it knew an answer would annoy its owner more, the oven of Bayer 04 Leverkusen let out a last beep and died.

"Damn right," he growled, unplugging the shitty device, "just go rot in hell."

But Leverkusen's inner fire was immediately extinguished. His sprinkles poured rain on his profane parade, soaking him from head to toe; from the red stripes of his jersey to his black shorts and blue slippers.

His Swear Jar now had ten euros.

* * *

After a long, _long_ fifteen minutes of cleaning, Leverkusen left his godforsaken kitchen for a shower.

 _If I have to host one more time,_ he vowed, squeezing his soap bar so hard it cracked, _I'll poison Freiburg's food so much she'll die before she gets an actual bite._

* * *

Now fresh in a Germany second jersey (the one with four stars, I might add) and jeans, Leverkusen finally settled for lemonade - cheap, simple, and inflammable. It wasn't like the guests had asked him to cook a three-course meal, hadn't they?

He laughed. He'd literally kick them out if they had.

_Such thoughts are unbecoming of a club like you, Bayer._

Leverkusen froze. There was that voice again... the voice that stopped him from little things like letting his short temper get the better of him to having fun with his ultras. He'd tried to ignore it, even tried to make it stop with medications, but it wouldn't go away.

Was it conscience? Maybe.

Was it something more sinister? He didn't want to know. But every time he acted against it, something inside him hurt. Physically. _Maybe that's why I always need my Swear Jar full..._

_Come on, Bayer. Smile. Positive thoughts lead to a positive life._

He took a deep breath and did so, fearing what would come if he did otherwise.

"Am I interrupting something?"

* * *

17.00, an hour before the game

 

"Thanks for the drink, Bayer."

The addressed nodded at Schalke wordlessly.

"Can I have more?" Werder asked, raising his glass. "Sure," Leverkusen replied. But when he got up to refill, Werder stopped him. "Just tell me where your kitchen is," he said. "Besides, you took a really long time to prepare this... you must be exhausted, am I right?"

 _Yes!_ Leverkusen agreed inside, cursing his kitchen once more, _I'm so done with that room!_

But the voice came back, giving not-so-subtle signals to his body to act the part of proper host...

_Ding!_

He sighed in relief as the bell spared him an answer. "Wait here, guys!" he ordered, running to answer the door.

What he saw wasn't a personification or two, but a walking German flag.

"Hello, Bayer dearest!"

And it wasn't just the colors that stood out - the sounds did, too. A trumpet screamed in his ears when the door was fully open. "Ready to see our boys win?" the guest shouted, ignoring Leverkusen's silent pleas. "And hey, Werder! And Schalke!" he pushed the older club aside and stepped in. "And yo, guys!"

"Maaaaaaaaainz!"

Werder's slight form bumped into Mainz's taller one, faceplanting on the small drum on his chest. "Ow!"

Chuckling, Mainz helped the Bremen club back to his feet. "Missed me?"

"Heh," Werder laughed, "in your dreams!"

"Liar," Mainz said, eyes twinkling as his hands prepared for a tickle-fest.

"Noooo!" Werder wailed, hiding behind Leverkusen's sofa. Grinning mischievously, Mainz chased the Green-Whites around the room, his scarves and cape (flag?) trailing behind him.

Leverkusen's eyes betrayed his disgust at the two club's juvenile antics, and it was spotted by none other than VfB Stuttgart.

"Well, well, well. Not so nice today, huh?"

When blue-green eyes met brown, it held no trace of the Leverkusen the world knew.

"It's okay, Bayer, I won't tell," the Swabian was unafraid, mocking even, when he continued, leaning closer to the younger man, "nobody's perfect, after all..."

A five-euro bill was shoved into the Jar as Leverkusen's patience drained faster than the lemonade in Werder's glass.

"Not you, not me, and certainly not them," he snorted.

_Now, now, Bayer, don't listen to him.  
_

"Leave me alone," Leverkusen ordered in a low, forceful tone, leaving no room for argument. _"Now."_

"As you wish," Stuttgart curtseyed.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the spacious living room, the non-footballing variant of Revierderby was rolling.

But we don't care about that, not yet, at least... because someone is waiting at the front door!

* * *

Noise everywhere.

Borussia Mönchengladbach had to endure Freiburg and Hertha (plus Frankfurt's motor mouth) gossiping like mother hens since before he arrived.

Not to mention Paderborn's horrible 'cover' of... of whatever song he was listening to through his obnoxiously huge headphones-

And God, did he really have to listen to Hamburg's video calls? He'd probably talked to a hundred people already, judging from the many different voices stabbing his head in the form of a migraine.

"Where's Bayer when you need him," he grumbled, berating himself for forgetting to charge his phone. "Bayer!" he yelled, banging on the door, "Bayer, you plastic shit, let me in!"

"Gladbach!" Hertha cried, pulling the back of his jersey, "Can't you just ring him?"

He pushed her aside and shot back, "why didn't you?!"

"I was just catching up, Borussia," Hertha replied. "And so are the others."

"But we might miss the game if you "catch up" for too long," Gladbach snapped.

"Hey," a voice called, "what's wrong?"

The waiting clubs (except Paderborn, who was trying - and failing - to sing the high notes of Aerosmith's _Dream On_ without sounding like a dying cat) turned to the newcomer, who carried what seemed to be a snack trolley.

"Wolfsburg!" smallest-budget-in-the-league Freiburg squealed/drooled, eyeing the trolley with practically sparkling eyes. "What're you getting us?"

The Lower Saxony club smirked proudly. "Popcorn. Chips. Beer." A dramatic pause. _"Everything."_

Freiburg opened her mouth to further lick his boots (probably so she could get extra sausages or some shit), but Gladbach, impatient to watch their country steamroll its eastern rival, demanded Wolfsburg to call the host.

When the Wolves pulled Freiburg off him, she pouted, shooting the Rhine club a poisonous look, but no fucks were given back.

"Hello, Bayer?" Wolfsburg said without preamble, "please open the door. We've been waiting for ages. Thanks."

The call ended with a beep, and a moment later, they were ushered in by a guilty-looking Leverkusen.

* * *

Twenty minutes before the game, everyone had settled on the sofas or the fluffy carpet on the floor, and Leverkusen picked his favorite couch. Fan attributes - which consisted of basically everything sans flares - were held like weapons of war, some slung on the shoulder and some held overhead. Small talks and predictions buzzed like bees before the TV, and they set aside their differences as they prepared to watch a national team that was nearly comprised of two clubs.

"But Bayern isn't coming, right?" Dortmund inquired.

"We all know you miss her, Lover Boy," Frankfurt replied, nudging the Bundesliga juggernaut playfully.

"Unfortunately," Schalke piped up, rolling his eyes, "she's in Warsaw right now..."

"And is probably having more fun than us combined," Mainz finished, rather contemptuously.

Face beet red, Dortmund hastily asked, "How about Augsie and Hoffe?"

The doorbell rang.

"Speak of the devil!" Paderborn cried, startled.

Leverkusen quickly let the two clubs in. Wolfsburg, ever the alert one, gave them Spezi the moment their butts touched their seats.

"Did we miss any-"

"Sssh! It's starting!" Freiburg whooped as the commentators made their appearance. "Yes!" Frankfurt joined in. Mainz looked like he was ready to burst with confetti as well, but _Rot und Weiß_ blared from his customized phone speakers, earning him death glares from everyone around. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, fumbling with the madly vibrating gadget in his hands, "But I have to answer this!"

"Fine," Frankfurt said, breaking the cold silence, "But make it quick! I don't want to miss a milisecond!"

"Okay!" Mainz replied, and stabbed the answer button. "Good evening," he said in an official-sounding voice.

A feminine laugh could be heard from the other end, and Mainz's expression relaxed. _"Abend, Schatzi,"_ he greeted, voice dropping into an almost-hum, "How may I help you?"

If looks could kill, Mainz would be dead under the Eagles' stare.

"What? You want them all to listen? Okay..." He set his phone to loudspeaker while Leverkusen muted the TV.

 _"Hello, Jürgen's friends,"_ the woman on the line greeted in accented German, _"before I say anything about the bet, lemme introduce myself. I'm Mia, from Poland."_

Everyone was minding their own business until Mia said 'bet'.

"What?!"

"What bet?"

Mainz rubs his temples with his free hand. "Mia..."

 _"Okay, okay,_ " she said, and continued: _"So Jürgen here proposed, if we lose, I'll dye my hair black, red and gold. But if you lose,"_ Mia's smirk was palpable as she let her words sink in, _"My boyfriend will have to dye his hair white and red... until you win. And the money, dear. Don't forget the money."_

Mainz sighed. "Of course."

"Hell yes!" Frankfurt cheered. Gladbach also expressed his agreement, and his move was followed by the rest of the room. "It's not like we'll lose, anyway!" Dortmund added, puffing his chest.

 _"We'll see,"_ Mia replied nonchalantly. _"Goodbye, darling. May the best team win!"_

"Goodbye!" Mainz replied, and not a millisecond later, their attention was fully on the recent announcement.

_"So there we have it:_

Poland (5-3-2): Szczesny; Szukala, Jodlowiec, Wawrzyniak, Gilk, Piszczek; Krychowiak, Grosicki, Rybus; Milik, Lewandowski

Germany (4-2-3-1): Neuer; Durm, Hummels, Boateng, Rudiger; Kroos, Kramer; Bellarabi, Götze, Schürrle; Müller

_What are your thoughts about the home side's line-up?"_

The other commentator glanced at his tablet for a brief moment and said, _"As expected, Poland is maximizing their attack this evening, with Ajax forward Arkadiusz Milik and Robert Lewandowski as skipper."_

_"Will the captain score tonight?"_

Everyone stared at Dortmund with varying degrees of accusation, but he only shrugged.

 _"He could very well open scoring opportunities,"_ the second commentator replied.

 _"Now speaking of scoring goals, do you think Manuel Neuer is up to the challenge?"_ the first commentator asked.

_"Neuer's had a good track record so far... and it is to be noted that the two nations have met on 18 occasions, with Germany winning 12 and the other six matches ending in a draw. That really is some record!"_

The seventeen clubs cheered, spilling a few drinks as they exchanged high-fives.

_"Also, the last time Germany lost an away match on a qualification was in Portugal, dating all the way back to June 2000..."_

* * *

The atmosphere was electric.

Old and new animosities were replayed here, and every fan, from the most fanatic ultras to the children brought here by their parents, could feel the chants reverberating inside them. They felt it waking up their souls, their passion, and uniting them as one.

 _This isn't a stadium,_ thought Bayern as the players entered the field, followed by their national anthems-

_This is seventh heaven._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Effzeh (FC): Köln's nickname, emphasized on the F rather than the C as it is in the local dialect.  
> Mainz 05 is nicknamed Karnevalsverein (Carnival club) for the many carnivals held in the city. And his fake name, Jürgen, comes from his legendary former coach Jürgen Klopp... this fake identity thing will be elaborated on later, I promise!  
> 'Lover Boy' references Dortmund's motto, Echte Liebe, which means 'real love'.  
> This season, Stuttgart has a nice touch in front of the goal, but has conceded quite a lot as well.  
> Werder Bremen won in 2004 and Stuttgart in 2007. They were great competition for bigger clubs like Schalke and Bayern.
> 
> As for the voice in Levi's head, it is different from Bayern's imaginary taunts in Dortmund's... but I'll let you guys guess what I'm implying in either case. If you have interesting theories or whatever, don't hesitate to share~ I don't bite.
> 
> And should you have any questions/critique, let me know... thanks a million for reading!
> 
> Lewaddawski


	5. Anywhere the Wind Blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change, for Stuttgart, is the only constant in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: very short, RPF-ish.  
> Credits to @VfB_int for the quotes.
> 
> And to the 6 people who gave this fic kudos: thanks a million! :D
> 
> (Edited 17.11.16)

November 24, 2014

 

Lights. Camera. Action.

Thousands of thoughts ran in the minds of fans and media alike as Armin Veh looked straight into the camera with a heavy heart.

 _"This_ desicion _is certainly not an easy one... the club and the team are very close to my heart."_

Those loyal to the Swabians stared at their gadgets with unblinking eyes as their social media channels updated, sentence by sentence.

 _"But I had to make the_ decision, _because I am fully convinced that this is the right step."_

Some were sad. Some were pleased.

Meanwhile, watching the press conference, a pair of brown eyes narrowed in the distance-

_"The team is better than the points tally. Nine points out of twelve games is not good. In many close encounters, we weren't fortunate enough."_

-disinterested as ever.

 _Fortunate,_ the dark-clad figure thought, letting the word bounce in every corner of his mind. _There's no such thing as fortune._

_"Ultimately, I am responsible."_

That's why he liked Veh, really...

_"I am certain the team will pick up points after this."_

His _former_ head coach, unfortunately, didn't like him back - the man had repeatedly warned him not to take his status as the club's personification for granted. It was rumored that high-ups could revoke their almost-divine privilege, after all, so he'd kept his mouth shut, albeit grudgingly.

* * *

 

_Veh was one of the few people who could curb his scathing remarks, and that was why he hadn't liked him as much as he should. Blind faith didn't - never had - fit him._

_"The Bundesliga has always been Bayern's to win," he'd argued, despite Bayer and Werder and Schalke and all the surprise packages over the years. "I wouldn't get my hopes up too high, Coach, even if we do have a very talented team."_

_But at the end of the season, they'd won the league, so without waiting for an 'I told you so', he'd begun to find the joys in shutting up._

* * *

 

 _I guess he's very close to my heart, too,_  Stuttgart remembered fondly, feeling the phantom weight of the Meisterschale in his hands. And when he failed, he never blamed the players, never blamed the club's money... _Damn, I'll really miss him._

_"I wish to thank the board of VfB, especially the president, for their support... but most of all, I'd like to thank all the fans...  for everything."_

After that sentimental moment, Stuttgart almost expected to feel tears welling in his eyes...

But nothing happened, save a mere blip of realization. _(Not unlike that one when the board sacked Bobic, or when Bayern bought Gomez-)_

And not a split-second later, ideas - of people and technique and philosophy - moved the gears inside Stuttgart's head.

He left the room without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a comment!
> 
> Lewaddawski
> 
> P.S.: Finals is in two days- that's where the real hiatus begins.


	6. A Shoulder to Cry On (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Und wenn du das Spiel verlierst, ganz unten stehst, dann steh'n wir hier und sing' Borussia, Borussia, BVB...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday, Dortmund... Please don't get relegated. You're the white knight to Bayern's evil overlord.
> 
> (Edited 17.11.16)

November 30, 2014

Matchday 13

 

 

_Take a deep breath, Borussia._

_Deep breaths._

_In-out._

_In-out._

_In-out._

_I see stars... no. No, no, no._

_Come on, Dortmund;_

_In, and out,_

_And in-_

_I can't..._

The last jeers, the last ultra leaving and middle fingers rising wash over me in alarming intensity.

One can only hope so much...

"Borussia!"

It's Kloppo again. I mean to nod at the coach; he really shouldn't be doing this- but another voice interrupts me. "I'm sorry, Borussia..."

I lift my head–the direction doesn't matter–the moment I find my voice back. "You don't have to be, Matze..." I croak out, "none of you have to be sorry."

But flashes of that header, of every individual mistake, continue to haunt me, screaming _liar!_ as loud as the proverbial eagles surrounding us.

_Dortmund, Dortmund, zweite Liga!_

And relegation–I haven't been there for forty years, I don't want to! Schalke–Bayern–they don't–

"Borussia... hear...?"

What? What're they saying...?

"...sia,"

"...need... rin...?"

"... I think... does,"

"...cious..."

Just when everything starts to fade, I feel hands shaking me.

"...Dortmund,”

My eyes open a fraction, but I can't find it in myself to wake.

"Borussia, come on,"

_Dortmund, Dortmund, zweite Liga!_

I shut my eyes tighter as I hang my head. It's 2007 all over again, but expectations weren’t as high back then, were they?

_Dortmund, Dortmund, zweite Liga!_

My head grows heavier with every chant, and feeling Frankfurt’s perverse elation from afar doesn’t help.

“Borussia!”

It’s against every principle of mine to give up, to give in, but…

_Dortmund, Dortmund, zweite Liga!_

“…weaker…”

"…carry him,"

…I don't resist.

* * *

I wake up on something… soft. It’s almost like my bed sheets at home, but the… thing under it is hard, like… I turn my head the other way, _…taut muscles._

I haven’t been sleeping on… god forbid, _someone,_ right?

I reopen my eyes as slowly as I can, trying to focus–

Oh, shit.

I propel my body into a standing position, ignoring my stiff limbs. The headache I was desperate to get rid of comes back with a vengeance, and to make it worse, I _was_ sleeping on someone’s lap!

“I-I’m sorry,” I say hastily, and I realize that I don’t know whose lap I was inappropriately using as a pillow for the last few hours. So I rub my eyes, once, twice, thrice… I think that’s enough…

The first thing I see is a pair of amused blue eyes.

“Had a good night’s sleep, I see,”

Moving down a bit, I see hooked nose, thin lips, angular features… features that belong in Bayern’s face. _Shit._ I instinctively take a step back to see her full profile...

And I sigh in relief at the lack of bulging biceps under her sleeves. 1860 München sure as hell looks like her!

“Dammit, Sechzig, I thought you were Bayern!"

“Hi, Dortmund,” she greets acidly. “It’s been a long time.”

I grin at her perpetual frown–it _has_ been a long time since I met the former Bundesligist. “Yeah, it has. How’s life?”

“Good–the boys just won against Brause and I haven’t passed by FC Bastard for a week,” she replies. Then her eyes widen, as if something just dawned on her. “Speaking of our favorite poacher… I’m sure you’re kinda glad that you don’t have see her anymore, huh?”

I frown. Why would I not meet Bayern again? It’s not winter break yet, right? I say as much to her, and she laughs, louder than anything I can manage.

“Oh, Dortmund,” she sighs, “are you that much in denial?”

I don’t like where this is going. “What do you mean?”

She stands up and cups my cheeks in her hands. I suddenly notice that she’s now much, much taller, the top of her head almost touching my nose. “Look around.”

I not-so-gently push her aside. “What the hell, Sechzig?”

She gazes pityingly at me, and I take that as a cue.

The room we're in is spacious but packed with people, some chatting, some drinking, some snacking… but I see faces I only recognize from _Pokal_ matches. A few are familiar, though. I recognize Nürnberg. Braunschweig. Hamburg. Werder Bremen…

Wait, is that VfL Bochum?

…Fortuna Düsseldorf?

…Greuther Fürth?

A few faces later, my gaze finally arrives back where it started… 1860 München. My breath hitches. This can’t be true… this simply can’t be true. No.

No, no, _no!_

Sechzig’s stare never wavers. “Yes, Dortmund. Welcome to __the _zweite Liga._ ”

“No!” I cry, burying my face in my hands. This is too much. I can’t be relegated. I just _can’t!_ “Impossible! I’m not relegated, I finished…” a number jumps into the forefront of my mind, “sixteenth…” When I trail off, images, vivid as reality, assault me. “…I lost the relegation play-offs…”

“Lautern scored at extra time,” Sechzig said. “And in case you don’t remember, Klopp was sacked after you–“ I stop listening.

Kloppo… sacked?

I can’t believe it. Jürgen Klopp, Kloppo, my one-in-a-million manager, _Echte Liebe_ personified, lost his job. This amazing man–the one who led us to glory and loved us like they were his flesh and blood–why was he given marching orders? Why? He never backed down. He said so himself. He… I stop myself, pursing my lips. I should move on. _Managers come and go, Borussia. You should know better than that._

“Who’s in Bundesliga now?” I find myself asking; I don't want to think about _that_ right now.

“Kaiserslautern, Karlsruhe… and Ingolstadt,” she spits the last name like it’s deadly poison. “That midget plastic went unbeaten on the _Rückrunde_ last season… sounds familiar?”

So… so Bayern, too, was unbeaten… _for a whole season?_ I blink repeatedly, seeing stars–too much information in such a short time, and none of them pleasant. Shit. Shit, shit, holy freaking shit.

“Oh, wait.” Sechzig pauses, as if trying to remember something. I stare at her, imploring, _please be good news._ Sechzig’s expression is a mix of apology and twisted joy as she opens her mouth.

“Schalke finished third.”

That does it! Bayern can buy my whole squad _and_ rule the universe; I don't give a damn, but Scheiße 04 _cannot_ finish above me! Without much thought, I lunge at her– _curse you for spewing all these bullshit!_ –and my face kisses her fist.

* * *

The young defender doesn’t dare wake Borussia.

Tears stream down the personification’s face as he trembles in his seat, body curled as if seeking solace from what he assumed is a nightmare.

Does the loss shake him this much?

He thinks about his previous club, but as much as he tries to recall anything, he finds nothing. Maybe she was more realistic, being a small club from a small city… but who knows? She rarely hung out with the team in the first place. She was always seen with either the coach or that other girl… Nürnberg, wasn't it?

He shakes his head. He made the decision to move; there’s no use in dwelling in the past.

“Let him sleep,” the captain says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “We’re arriving in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” the young defender replies, but he doesn’t leave before vowing, both to himself and to Borussia Dortmund, _I’ll never make the same mistakes I did today._

* * *

Conditioned air caresses the back of my neck, my cheek, every centimetre of exposed skin. It feels cold, colder than it’s supposed to be. I curl tighter, my feet digging into the cushion of my seat.

“Borussia!”

The sound of the coach’s voice compels me to look up, but I can barely open my eyes, as heavy as they are. “Kloppo,” I choke out, hands outstretched, desperate to know if he’s here, if he’s real, if he still belongs to Borussia Dortmund. The moment we touch, warmth travels to me in waves, proving my nightmare wrong, but the moment ends as quickly as it started.

He recoils, as if he just touched a burning stove.

At that moment, the almost-white puffs of my breaths make themselves known.

“Is it normal?” he asks, offering the back of his hand for my forehead to burn, but I move away. He’s already got a ton of problems to deal with, never mind my sickness. “Other clubs have it even worse,” I reply, telling him about the end of Hamburger SV’s supremacy a few years ago; how he seemed to limp wherever he went, his hard-earned muscle gone.

“I don’t care about Hamburg,” he says, so firmly that I can’t do anything but listen, but obey. “You have to rest, Borussia. Go home.”

“Yes, Sir,” I sigh, and the empty team bus takes me home.

 

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zweite Liga: literally 'second league'; Bundesliga 2.  
> Pokal: the DFB-Pokal (DFB Cup).  
> Rückrunde: second half of a season (after winter break).  
> Scheiße: shit.
> 
> ~
> 
> Phew! That was the toughest chapter so far...
> 
> I'm not a BVB fan, so I basically did some research (which includes extensive chatting and browsing fanpages).
> 
> Was it worth it? Does it sound forced? Awkward? Constructive criticism about anything (as it is severely lacking here; I'm sure this story is far from perfect) is especially welcome! :)
> 
> Lewaddawski
> 
>  
> 
> P.S.: The only reader commenting actively is German, yet I keep making dem translation notes. The irony is not lost on the author.


	7. Late Night Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threat of relegation has not escaped the management's notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're waiting for 'A Shoulder to Cry On (Part 2)', stay tuned! It's coming after this chapter. :)
> 
> (Edited 30.1.16)

A few days after La Manga…

 

The stars hid behind dark clouds as they overlooked the artificial lights underneath, blinding and oppressive but to the figure walked the  _Strobelallee_ , footsteps as abrupt as _gegenpressing_. The figure's eyes never wavered from the office door a few meters before him– _why had Aki called this late?_ –but he never once slowed down, even when the wind cut into his coat and parted his neatly-styled hair.

 _Come as soon as you can, Borussia,_ said the text that had woken him up, _this is important._

* * *

Half an hour earlier...

 

He rarely questioned Aki's orders (there was no reason to do so, after all), so he immediately took a shower, wore the topmost stuff he spotted inside his closet, and used his hair gel only when he was safely rooted in the U-Bahn. His mind, never one for philosophical exercises or 'what if's, drifted with what he saw: officers barking _'Karte bitte'_ to the passengers–all the while thinking they’d look cooler with a more stylish civilian clothing. Maybe something like what Mainz wore.

* * *

The glass never quite showed anything outside as the train grew closer to the Westfallenhallen Station, so he used the opportunity to make sure he didn't look like someone who'd just got up from bed.

Bloodshot dark eyes stared back at him, but otherwise, his reflection looked okay.

 _This'll do,_ he tried to convince himself, t _his is too important for a wardrobe check._

* * *

A few minutes later, he found himself back in the present, standing before the office of Ballspielverein Borussia 09 e.V. Dortmund.

Without hesitation, he opened the door.

* * *

The lights in the room mirrored the stars in the sky, never managing to light up the room blanketed with despair.

Unlike what legends said, personifications didn't have the power to read minds or sense feelings in a supernatural way–but in this case, it didn't take an idiot to figure out what was missing: that spark of hope, the dreams, the endless energy that was Borussia Dortmund.

And on its throne, Hans-Joachim Watzke’s eyes met the embodiment of his club’s, his irises a perfect reflection of his office.

“Good evening, Borussia...” he greeted, fatigue lacing his voice, “Or should I say ‘midnight’?”

Dortmund could hear the ghost of a chuckle in Aki’s tone, but it was a far cry from the man who almost treated him as an equal, the man who criticized Rummenigge and celebrated his now rare victories like he’d won the league. The physically younger man grinned nonetheless. “Well, I’d say ‘dawn’, but we’re not in a hurry, are we?” he replied, taking his seat in front of the club chairman.

The temperature seemed to drop the moment he said his last word.

“That’s the problem, Borussia,” Aki declared, no longer bothering with pleasantries, “we _are_ in a hurry.”

The moment the last word was uttered, the room closed in on him, imaginary hands squeezing his heart. Pessimism leaked into his mind, gnawing and grating and _please dammit stop I don't need this_ –

“As you know," Watzke, thankfully, broke the silence, but he knew, somehow, that this wouldn't be good, "Our position in the league is not to be taken lightly."

He had been right. Shit, he'd been _right_.

_Who cares?!_

The thought came to him, unbidden, reminding him that he wanted, _needed_ to reignite that spark.

_You’ll be damned if we stay like this!_

“We’re _not_ going to be relegated, Aki!" he proclaimed, clenched fists propped on the desk, "We’re gonna make it to Europe and win everything in sight!”

Watzke’s pointed look screamed _You forgot Bayern,_ causing him to roll his eyes. “Fine,” he scoffed, _“Almost_ everything.”

His boss–he was painfully reminded of that yet again–sighed, the lines on his face heavy with exasperation. “I like your optimism, Borussia... but that doesn't change the fact that we are currently in seventeenth place." He paused, as if he was unsure whether he should break the important news or not, but eventually decided to do so as he cleared his throat. "That is why, Borussia," he said, "we are submitting an application for a 2. Bundesliga license.”

“You _what?!”_

“You heard right, BVB.”

Blood drained from Borussia’s face. “No,” he sputtered, _this can’t be,_ “No! How–why–what the hell–“

Watzke didn't even bother reprimanding him. “It’s not desperation, Dortmund. It’s a _precaution_.”

 _Well, it sounds incredibly like desperation, you hypocrite!_ “We can’t possibly be that hopeless!” he cried instead, throwing his hands up in the air, “What happened to ‘Borussia Dortmund’s got the winning genes’?! What the hell happened? Even _Hamburger SV_ still sees the _Schale_ half full!”

“Borussia–“

“No, Aki. _No._ Augsburg said his only target is avoiding relegation, but because they never give up, now they’re in…” He took a deep breath, blood boiling as the league table came into the forefront of his mind, “In _sixth_ _place_!” His right fist left a dent on the desk for emphasis. “And look at Paderborn, only a promotion club… but they're _tenth!_ They even _led the league_ on Matchday 4, for fuck's sake!” He glared daggers at the old looking– _yet in so many things younger_ –man, burning coals aiming to put the prick in his place. But it wasn't enough, no. Watzke had to know what he had to say about this.

“Your problem, _Aki_ ,” his index touched Watzke's chest, “ _My_ problem,” and then his own, “and the problem of _everyone else in this club,”_ he made a widening gesture with both hands, “isn’t fitness, nor is it Bayern stealing our players… but _mentality!”_ Another dent on the desk, and he didn't spare the cornered Watzke anything resembling mercy. "If you want to keep playing the martyr, do it–but I'll do _everything_ in my power to stop you, as a fan... and as the _heart_ and _soul_ of Borussia Dortmund.”

When _Die Schwarzgelben_  knew he'd left a mark, he turned on his heel, donning his coat as he made his way to the door.

“Borussia,” Watzke’s voice made way into his ears for the last time, appealing for his guilt… but he’d take none of that. Never.

“ _Think_ about it,” he hissed, leaving Watzke with only his tumultuous thoughts to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U-Bahn: subway; underground train.  
> Karte bitte: Ticket, please.
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is a flash one: Found a newsflash from several websites, did a flash-research, flash-wrote and flash-edited this chapter. I don't quite believe the news (neither does BVB, apparently), as they contradict Hans-Joachim "Aki" Watzke's optimistic interview with the club's website, but I hope it's not as bad as it seemed... if you think otherwise (or not), feel free to comment!
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Lewaddawski


	8. A Shoulder to Cry On (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Und wenn du das Spiel gewinnst, ganz oben stehst, dann steh'n wir hier und sing' Borussia, Borussia BVB...

Dortmund, November 30, 2014

 

 

I use my remaining strength to drag myself into my bedroom, each step taken sending pinpricks of pain all over my body. When I arrive at my destination, every cell practically begs me to lie down, to succumb to fatigue, but I force my eyes open. I shouldn’t sleep again, really–what does it offer, other than nightmares? I’m still in the relegation zone. I should face it.

Maybe the only thing I need is a cup of coffee...

And someone to talk to.

With that decided, I turn on my heel and make my way to the pantry. The ache from my eighth loss still lingers, but I figured that ignoring it lessens the pounding in my head. The methodical movement of making coffee helps take my mind further away from it. Opening the jar, pouring the dark brown powder into a mug, turning on the water heater… Humming a radio hit as I wait, I almost feel like an average person.

It’s easy to let go if you’re relaxed, I think, fetching my laptop and headphones to use on my couch. I’m just a guy video calling a friend, whining about my team’s decline. And he’s gonna whine about Leverkusen, how they slaughtered FC Köln and how arrogant Roger Schmidt is.

Maybe, if I closed my eyes and willed it to happen, it _would_ happen. I’d be a guy studying some impractical stuff in college, and Köln would be - a name jumps into the forefront of my mind - Billy Hennes, a classmate who has a huge mansion, yet can’t afford something as simple as deodorant. Bayer would be the suck up, the teacher’s pet. Hoffenheim, Wolfsburg and Leipzig would lead some bad boy club in the neighboring campus.

But mostly, Kloppo would ‘only’ be distant Jürgen Klopp, manager of Borussia Dortmund, and I would grow up being a BVB fan, the seeds of love laid down by my parents… who’d taken me to the _Fußballtempel_ when I was five.

The thought of football bursts my illusion of normalcy. Clutching my head, I can only cry as reality comes back to me with a vengeance. _No, no, no, please, make it stop…_

_Beep!_

_Beep!_

_Beep!_

_Beep!_

The water heater alerts me that it’s done its job, but I don't give a shit. With deft fingers, I launch the browser and signed in, making sure my microphone’s working as it loads. _Come on,_ I beg silently, fingers roaming impatiently over the keyboard, _come on, come on, come on…_

The blue layout of that website finally appears, and I waste no time in searching Köln’s username. Thank god he’s online, I sigh in relief, _oh, thank you!_

Without preamble, I press ‘Video Call’. The screen fades into white.

_Loading…_

_Connecting to server…_

This is taking so long. Far too long. With nothing left occupying my mind, the incessant beep comes back in full force.

“Ah, screw it!” I yell, dashing to the pantry. With such a high coffee-making speed, the mug should be on the floor by now, surrounded by black and yellow shards of glass, but it stays in my grip, burning my cold hand. Normally I would take it slow, inhaling the nice, strong smell of my coffee (and sometimes cream), but now, all I want is to talk to Köln, to share woes with a drink in hand to drown them.

A minute later, when I settle myself back on my seat, I expect do just that.

But Köln, apparently, doesn’t want to.

 _“I’m sorry, Dortmund,”_ he apologizes, running a hand through his red hair, _“but I’m really busy right now. Just… call me later.”_ He pauses, eyes faraway as if trying to remember something. Now he’s back… with an even deeper frown. _“Wait, don’t. I’m off for today. The boss is calling.”_ I can hear his phone ring somewhere in his room. _“Why don’t you… talk… to Hertha? She’s nice, she’d understand.”_ The ringing grows louder, and although I don't want it, he has to leave.

“It’s fine, Köln,” I say flatly, trying my best to hide my dismay, “Good luck with your boss.”

 _“Thanks a bunch, Dortmund,”_ he replied with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, _“I mean it!”_

And he goes offline.

* * *

I’ve only drunk half of my mug, but the coffee inside has grown cold.

Damn you, Köln! I don’t want to call Hertha!

She may be nice, like you said, but I don't want–don’t _need_ herkind of nice right now. She’s nice to everyone; there’s nothing special or encouraging about it…

Oh, who am I kidding? She’s infinitely better than… than anyone else I know!

I go back to check if she’s online, but apparently the 1:0 loss to Bayern trapped her in the Olympic Stadium’s dressing room.

If I were healthy, would I stay with the team, discussing what went wrong? Would I be dismissed, instead?

But no one else was dismissed, I realized, and thus, the online list is filled with…

 

**_SterndesSuedens_ **

**_Koenigsblau04_ **

**_neverlosen_ **

…I don’t bother to scroll anymore.

* * *

Another cup of coffee.

Hilarious videos that has nothing to do with football.

None give me respite.

So I let myself drift off, the threat of relegation looming ever closer.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Borussia!"

Calloused hands dig into my shoulders, kneading the stiff muscles so hard I think it's harder than a mixer would a bunch of eggs and flour. But it's probably my imagination; no one's at home but me...

"Dude, wake up!"

Said hands, hands that are far too strong to be imaginary, rolled me out of my blanket and into the cold floor. Whoever this is, he sure fulfills his target, because my whole body hurts now. As I straightened myself into a sitting position, I feel that the air is... warmer. Warmer than what my heater can manage in the condition I'm in, warmer than all the Novembers I've lived through.

 _This is so weird,_ I think, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. _Is something leaking?_

Wait, if something _is_ leaking, I shouldn't be sitting here waiting for my house to get burned down! I jumped to my feet and ran outside-

But I fall face down, feet tangled with the black and yellow sheets.

"Seriously, Dortmund?" the voice that woke me up groaned, its owner pulling me up with his pale hands.

Why the fuck is this guy in my room?!

"Intruder!" I yelled. Before he could flee, I bite his bare shin, eliciting a shriek from its owner. He sounds familiar, but my guessing is interrupted by his screams. "I'm not an intruder, you-" He drags his feet off my teeth, one step with every word, "goddamn-" another step, pulling my jaw in a very wrong direction, "freaking-" His other foot step on my head, effectively stopping me and I cry out on top of my lungs, screaming 'help!' to whoever can hear.

"Shut up!" the guy (the voice's far too low to be a girl's) ordered, not quite angry but more like... pissed. Kind of like Köln when I get too far with my pranks. "I'm not an intruder, man!" he continued, pulling me up again, "This is _my_ room."

I want to deny his claim, to kick him out of my house once and for all but then I see his Champions League jersey and the pierced ear and his face and his hair-

"Imposter!" I roar, pushing my double off me... but not before clawing at his face and hair, searching for a hint of a wig or a mask or whatever the hell this guy's wearing...

But he's not wearing any kind of disguise. His dark eyes, looking like black holes against his pale skin, mirrors mine in intensity as we bore through each other's defenses.

But he breaks off first, laughing. "Are we gonna glare at each other forever?"

I don't stop. "I'm gonna glare at you until you tell me who you are,"

His look changes from disbelief to mockery. "Isn't that obvious?" he asked, throwing his hands into the air. "I'm the owner of this damn room, you idiot; I'm Borussia freaking Dortmund! And don't you _dare_ tell me you don't know who I am!"

"And don't _you_ dare claim you're Borussia Dortmund!" I shout back, leaning in so close that the tips of our noses touch. "There's only one _Borussen_ and it's _me._ "

"You?" he sneered, pinching my right cheek, stretching the skin so far I feel tears springing up, "the idiot in the relegation zone? Are you fucking delusional?"

"Delusional?" I spit (literally and figuratively), causing his hand to fly off my cheek, " _You're_ the one who's delusional! I may not be Scheiße or Bastard, but I'm unbeaten in my CL group, so piss off!"

He freezes at my words, jaw dropped. "CL?" he asked, hands limply hanging on his sides, "you mean... Champions League?"

I scoff. "Damn right," I snap, "Imposters like you probably don't know that."

He shakes his head, chuckling as if I'm a five-year-old. "I should've told you my real, full name," he muttered.

"What?!" I demand, readying myself for Scheiße admitting that he had himself bleached just to spite me.

"I'm not just BVB," he replies, throwing me my own casual, signature grin, "I'm _Champions League_ BVB."

And he shows me his shin, already healed of my bite marks. And then I see the dark circles under his eyes - nonexistent. Bruises - none. The realization that he looks healthier, _happier_ , fills me with envy.

And the tears, no matter how much I resist them, return like a waterfall.

* * *

It's weird to hug yourself, Borussia thinks, patting his Bundesliga self in the back.

And damn, can't he cry someplace other than his chest? It makes him feel uncomfortable, but he stops himself from squirming, if just barely. Bundesliga-Dortmund is the reason he exists, after all... (and he hopes that his unhealthy self wouldn't be the death of him. The irony would hurt too much.)

* * *

I don't know what the hell possessed me to cry on his chest.

It's so... wrong!

Wrong on soooo many levels.

But it also feels... _right_ , you know?

When no one else understands, he, me, my thriving Champions League self, holds me like I would my friends when they fall.

"It'll be alright, Borussia," he whispers, his strong, healthy body warm against mine despite my tears soaking his shirt. "You'll be alright."

His voice soothes my mind, turning the bursts of panic receding into a steady calm, "You won't get relegated, Borussia." He lets my fingers dig into his back, crumpling his shirt. "You're too good to go down."

I lift my head, wanting desperately to believe his words, but Frankfurt's chant play itself on loop, blocking every positive thought. "I'm not," I moan, feeling the conceded goals weighing down my limbs. "I even lost to... to _Hamburg_!"

"Don't compare yourself to the dinosaur, man," he says, drawing circles in my back with his index. Sometimes I feel he's drawing our crest, what with the 0 and the 9 inside the circles, the arcs of a B and the sharp lines of a V between them. The gesture tickles a bit, but it comforts me more than anything, _anyone_ else could. Letting his voice wash over me, I rest my head in the crook of his neck, the lack of styling gel making my hair fall into my eyes. He smells like sweat and grime and passion... as if he just went back from the pitch victorious. I sigh, perfectly content.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

I snap awake with a frown. "What?"

"Why the fuck did you-" he points at me, then his neck, "are you high?!"

I feel heat rising to my cheeks. "I- I-"

"That was the most... fucking... creepiest thing _ever!_ "

He gets up on his feet, smoothing his shirt. "Your crying on me was creepy enough... why in the world did you even-" He groaned, fingers curling and twitching in the air as if he's dying to strangle me to death.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, "I got carried away, haha."

"Understatement of the century," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, at least I said sorry!" I exclaim, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. "Or do you want me to, I don't know, do _more_?"

He makes a puking sound. "Hell no!"

"Why not?" I ask, wiggling my eyebrows teasingly, "I thought you swing both ways!"

"Not for you!" he yells, sticking out a petulant tongue at me as he crosses his arms over his chest.

I shake my head, amused. If that _incident_ was anything to come by, I wouldn't mind dating him. Or would that be incest?

(Somehow, the thought doesn't creep me out as much as I expected.)

With the most charming smile I can muster, I decide to play the host. "Anyway," I offer him my hand, "would you like some coffee?"

Now it's his turn to shake his head. "Oh, Dortmund. Always so welcoming."

He takes my hand, though.

Humming a triumphant tune, I take him to the pantry.

* * *

We drink the same kind of coffee with different mugs - I use my favorite one, a simple black with a yellow  _Echte Liebe_ text and a striped handle, while he uses another one of my best: it has a picture of a little Dortmunder... urinating on the tasteless blue and white crest of Scheiße 04. Great, huh?

"It's been a long time since I last used this," he remarks, lifting the white mug with a smirk. "It really enhances the drinking experience."

"I know," I reply, sipping my coffee, "that's why I gave it to you. You're my guest, after all."

"Thanks," he nods. "Hey, Borussia,"

"Yeah?"

"Let's toast," he says, eyes twinkling as he lifts his mug higher.

"What for?" I ask.

"Anything," he answers, "Like, Scheiße's relegation."

I raise an eyebrow. "I know we all want that to happen, but he's not relegated yet."

"Doesn't hurt to dream," he snickers, giving the mug a little shake. "Come on."

I raise mine - and a headache strikes me, the world blurring into a thousand wishes begging to be vocalized.

"Anything, Borussia," he coaxes, his voice sweeter than honey. "Before the coffee gets cold!"

So I shout my simplest, most sincere wish.

"To Borussia Dortmund!"

He laughs. "To Borussia Dortmund!"

And our mugs meet, the clink holding promises for a better tomorrow.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!  
> I don't have to put myself in a Dortmund fan's shoes anymore~  
> Comments are enabled for unregistered users as well, so feel free to praise/rant/whatever.
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Lewaddawski
> 
> P.S.: If you don't mind, take a few minutes to do this questionnaire :)  
> http://lewaddawski.tumblr.com/post/108444617434/what-do-you-think-of-bundesliga-project-so-far


	9. Interlude: Red Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an alternate universe, Manchester United lets the devil take over. Crack drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 301 views?! 10 kudos?! 14 comments?!  
> Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, for reading, commenting, and giving kudos for this fic! You guys rock. I feel so loved, hehe. And of course, motivated! So here's to a double update! :D
> 
> (Edited 26.7.16)

Old Trafford, Manchester

 

"MU!"

The devil-may-care man continued his amazingly swag stride through hordes of creeped-out fans, ignoring Van Gaal’s shouts for a record time of five minutes.

"Manchester United!"

The Dutchman swerved the crowd, man by man (with the occasional women and children)‎, faster than anyone of his build could dream of. Why in the world had he accepted this job? He enjoyed the atmosphere, the players, the everyday work… but not so much the personification of the club.

‎Why was MU so…  _different_?

Sure, Barcelona was a bit too proud, Ajax was creepy and Bayern was a two-meter-tall man who lived off verbal sparring, ‎but…

A bloodcurdling scream pierced Van Gaal’s eardrums, and he immediately pinned the blame on his very unique charge.

The sharp, coppery smell made him forget the sea of fans around him, and he pushed them effortlessly… to reveal a young woman‎, blood soaking her white away kit as her face drained of color.

"I-I’m sorry…" MU stuttered, his tail ‎shaking on the ground behind him. "I’m sorry…"

Van Gaal wrapped the woman’s wound with her scarf and turned on his heels. She had to get medical treatment, soon.

‎”Coach… I’m  _sorry_ …”

He regarded his charge for a second, dark eyes meeting a muted red. It saddened him to see him that way, but he deserved no leniency. Not when she was his seventh victim. “No more pitchforks in the stadium, MU.”

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposted from http://freibulous.tumblr.com/post/108354089169/bundesliga-project-once-upon-a-time-1-red-haze.


	10. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a miracle to happen, something has to be sacrificed. Drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 27.2.16 (aka Bayern's 116th birthday :D)

MTV 1879 München observed the proceedings in the meeting room, wishing nothing but to have a say, but personifications at this age were close to useless. The management curbed his tongue, tied his hands, and he was helpless when the football division left–why couldn't, _hadn't_ they let them join the SFV?

Oh, he'd never faced this kind of situation before…

Meanwhile, the men who led his club continued talking, its subject lost to the blood rushing through his ears.

His muscles, flexible as a gymnast's, suddenly turned rigid. A hand, dark and otherworldly, thrust itself into his chest and ripped his heart out, out of his ribcage and into the open air and he gasped as flecks of black seeped into his eyesight, blurring the table, the chairs, the people, everything. His senses began to shut off, but one thing was burning inside his mind–

_Today, 27 February 1900, a part of me died._

And he closed his eyes.

* * *

A pair of blue eyes opened, ever so slowly;

She was seeing the world for the first time. Everything was so bright, overwhelming her young senses, but it wasn't as blinding as she'd thought... the blobs around her slowly faded in as she adjusted herself to the lights, and there, she saw a friendly face.

"Who are you?"

The face smiled. "Franz John,"

She frowned; that name was strange in its novelty, but something about him was familiar, his low voice comforting.

"Are you... are you my father?"

"I might be," he replied, pulling her heartstrings with every syllable he uttered, "my teammates and I founded a new club, free from the constraints of a gymnastics-centric ruling body. They said that a... personificationof the club would be born... maybe a young boy, or even a girl like you," He paused, deep in thought. She watched him unblinkingly - his closed eyes, his tightly pursed lips, the hand on his chin, oh, they were all so painfully _fatherly_... until he perked up, eyes alight like a thousand suns. "Could you be...?"

She tilted her head slightly, questioning - the feeling of familiarity was growing stronger and stronger... no, it was something more now, like a sense of belonging, of pride, of  _identity._

"Bayern?"

Unlike  _Franz John_ , this name stuck to her psyche immediately, and everything became clear.

_"FC Bayern, is that you?"_

Her innocent blue eyes, devoid of a soul not a minute ago, came to life.

"Yes," she, FC Bayern, said as firmly as she could in her childish voice, "it's me."

_And it begins..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: SFV is the association of southern German football clubs.


	11. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had much fun writing this chapter. I completely immersed myself in the plot and in the character, not to mention the sleepless nights when I wrote this! When I listen to 'Wir stehen zu dir', I even forgot whether I was Reg or Leverkusen. It just... blurred - thank goodness it's over. Is it worth it, though? Is it not? Well, find it out below.
> 
> I'd also like to thank Jenny (twitter.com/Starchild19DC) for her brilliant ideas :) This chapter is for you, my friend.
> 
> Warning: Dark, headcanon heavy, strong language.
> 
> (Edited 17.11.16 - I'll never forget you, Jen. Wherever you are, I hope you're doing great.)

He was out of sleeping pills.

His hands, never losing their dexterity despite the late hour, landed on his nightstand, fingers turning each bottle to his scrutiny.

He'd meticulously replaced the long, forgettable scientific names of the medications he'd been given with simpler terms, but no matter how easy 'sleeping pills' was to comprehend, he couldn't find anything inside that little bottle, his prescribed lifeline.

Was something wrong with his eyes? Should he take more meds, maybe vitamin A supplements? His contacts were not prescription, but maybe they should be. Or maybe they'd made a new version of the pills, ones he couldn't see unless he was almost incurably sick?

 _No_ , he shook his head vigorously, messing his untrimmed blond locks, _that’s fucking silly, Leverkusen._

Jumping down his bed, he pulled his drawers open, the clinks of glass and plastic and wood giving him added alertness. _Cough. Cold. Flu. Allergies. Headache. Nausea._ “Come on,” he said through gritted teeth, pushing and pushing and pushing through the sea of useless medicines with his fingers. Nothing.

Wasting no time, he moved on to the drawer under it. _Stomachache. Constipation. Food poisoning. Vitamin C._

“Sleep,” he hissed, willing his longtime partner to just appear right now, “Sleep.” _Stomach flu._ “Sleep.” _Anemia_. “Sleep.” _Muscle pains._ “Sleep.” _Stimulant._ The very last thing he needed. “Sleep.” _Calcium._

But nothing else.

_Absolutely fucking nothing._

A roar made its way out of his system, its force sending the drawers crashing into each other, breaking the bottles into shards as sharp as his mounting panic.

“No,” he choked out, feeling the nagging voice rearing its ugly head, “no. No. No!”

Covering his ears, he ran to his desk, praying for spares, leftovers, even if his precious pills were on the floor under it, collecting dust.

And books. So many,  _too_ many books for someone who rarely read. Maybe he'd used the pills as bookmarks a year ago. Or two. Or three. Or four.

He threw them out of the shelf like one would a frisbee, eyes scanning for the pale blue magic hiding in the night.

Nothing. His books, so seldom that he read them, were yellowed and torn, the rotten smell of dead termites sending bile running up his throat.

Coughing a sticky substance he chose to ignore, he checked his bags, his wardrobe, every pocket, every fold- but nothing.

He was out of sleeping pills, and his boundless energy was burning inside him, waiting, no, _begging_ to be spent.

But adrenaline, when they weren't coursing through his muscles, grated on his mind, and suddenly he wasn't sure anymore. _What if I’m being watched? What if they come to me if I don't sleep, if I don't smile as much tomorrow, if I’m not nice enough?_

 _That is why you have to sleep, Bayer,_ said the voice inside his head. _You need to calm down._

But calming down would be easier if he wasn't so pumped! _What should I do, what should I do, what should I do?_

 _Take a deep breath,_ it said, resting calming hands on his mental shoulders. _In, out._

_In, out._

_In-_

No. He couldn't breathe. Oxygen denied him in every inhale. He couldn't calm down. He didn't need to calm down. He didn't need deep breaths. He only needed to find those damn pills. He had to sleep. He had to wake up refreshed. He had to adhere to his schedule. He was so late. Fifteen minutes late. He _must_ sleep. _Now,_ he told himself, a heaving breath shuddering his form as he curled tightly against the wall. _Now._ _NOW_.

So he jumped to his feet and turned off the lights.

* * *

Darkness made him see things differently.

Darkness lulled him to a false sense of security as he huddled in his blankets, but then his demons awoke, slithering through the gaps in his alertness.

It would be simple fear at first. _You haven’t taken off your contacts._

Leverkusen would do it, taking tentative steps to face the mirror in his bathroom, letting the light guide his finger not to stab his eye.

He thought he was used to it, but he felt his lips twisting in a minuscule grimace as the false blue and green irises shifted, revealing his natural eye color.

He never liked them. A deep shade of red, they gave him the impression of anger, betraying the turbulent mind under the friendly facade.

With eighteen minutes of sleep wasted, he had no desire to see it, so he quickly put his contacts inside their case, turning off the bathroom’s lights without looking at his reflection...

Still, those dark eyes burned into his mind, reminding him of what he shouldn't do, what he shouldn’t be.

And he dashed to his bed, heart pounding against his ribcage as he stared at the ceiling, wishing it would just disappear, and he into the stars.

But they granted him nothing. The stars led him to another night, a night where he was forced to see two of his players rubbing salt on a wound from his loss to Barcelona.

* * *

 

_“No!”_

_He saw Manuel taking Messi’s shirt off Michal so he ran to the rescue of his and his owner’s face, but then Völler held him back and everyone else did too and he could only scream like the pathetic club he was..._

_“Hi, Neverkusen! Welcome back!” Dortmund greeted as he entered the venue of the gathering, earning him laughter that thundered all over the room._

_For once, he didn't smile at anyone, but no one found it strange. “He shouldn't be so fake all the time,” he heard Frankfurt whisper, loud enough for him to hear..._

He jolted awake at the Eagles’ voice, out of breath. Failure. He hated them. He shouldn't have them. But they always come–

“Sleep, Leverkusen,” he told himself, forcing his eyes to stay closed. _“Sleep.”_

For once, his body complied, steadying his breath and slowing it down, in a smooth, gradual way he hadn’t felt for ages... his mind, however, could not be so easily tamed. It traveled in space and time, sending him into another world...

_He stood before Unterhaching, undaunted. The minnow gulped as he shook Leverkusen’s hand, his smaller palm sweating uncontrollably despite the home fans’ support._

I only need a draw _, Leverkusen thought, convincing himself that he was so, so close in clinching his first ever Bundesliga title,_ but we can win. I believe in the boys–we. Can. Win.

 _But Bayern was slaughtering Werder Bremen and he could do nothing as two goals,_ two damn goals and a fucking own goal included, _take the Meisterschale back to Bavaria..._

_“I’m sorry,” Bayern said mockingly, flipping her long, red hair, “better luck next time, Bayer.”_

_And she called him_ Bayer.

_How he hated being called that..._

_And it continued on..._

_“Bayer has so much talent,” said the press, looking at his roster for the millionth time. “yet, they never_

_ever_

_never_

_ever_

_never_

_ever_

_never_

_ever_

_win_

_anything.”_

* * *

_“Three matchdays left,” Leverkusen grinned, marking his calendar with a big red_ X _. The treble was in his grasp, and so, fearing another ‘almost’ finish, he’d even gone to church to pay a visit to the footballing gods above._

_Every. Single. Sunday._

_Everyone in the chapel gave him disgusted looks when he came with a flag that could protect a homeless man for days, multiple scarves and a few unlit flares, but he wanted the best he could get. And he thought he should get extra credit for his effort–after all, who else had the guts to ask the organ player to play_ Wir stehen zu Dir?

 _“Und Deutscher Meister werden wir beim nächsten Mal...” he sang, no,_ prayed _, that part of the song and surprisingly, some of the people followed suit._ They have faith in me, _he thought, a tear trailing his cheek._ The club from the tiny, forgotten city. I can win the treble. I _will_. For them.

_The priest gave him a long dressing down afterwards, but ultimately, his prayers were with the team._

_“Thank you,” Leverkusen said, pulling the middle-aged man into an embrace. “I’ll never forget this.”_

_But he went on to lose the next three games..._

_And the Cup final..._

_And the Champions League, too._

_He never came back to church._

_He never left the dressing room._

_When everyone else had gone home, he stayed._

_When his owner issued a trademark on his most insulting nickname, he stayed._

* * *

 

And he remembered–it was at that year, that fateful year, that he started taking sleeping pills.

His owner was more than willing to provide them for him. Every night, every week, every month...

But not tonight.

He bolted up from his bed with a pounding head. His voice, hoarse from fatigue, verbalized what he so wished he could say: “Fuck,”

One swear word led to another.

And another.

And another...

He dove into his scattered books and bags and clothes on the floor, digging and digging and digging, accompanied by an endless symphony of curses when he found a full swear jar, and another, and another–

“Where... are... you?!” he snarled, tearing into every room, slamming open containers... and he met another full jar. Two. Three. Four. _Twenty-one._

"Impossible," he breathed out, dark eyes scanning the racks for the second time, "this can't be."

But reality, despite its blessings, was inherently cruel, and twenty-one full jars stared at him, the hundreds, _thousands_ , of euros inside sending him to his knees. He brought his face to the ground, clenched fists pressing the floor. "Why..."

His chest grew heavy with stress, and all he could think was his wasted time, _why, why can't I adhere to the schedule?_

It was so fucking simple, but why couldn't he?! All he had to do was-

_Take sleeping pills._

Yes. _Yes_. _Those godforsaken pills._ He _needed_ them. But he couldn't go outside to buy more, not now, not at _midnight!_

_Wake up refreshed._

How? _How?_ He couldn't even do the first step! And if he didn't wake up refreshed, how would he-

_Shower. Change. Flash a fake smile. Or two. Or three. Or a thousand._

He pressed his head closer to the floor, gritting his teeth. Smile. _Smile, Leverkusen!_ He pulled the edges of his lips upwards, but the movement, one that usually came easily, only brought him pain. And before he could stop it, Frankfurt's words came back, his voice grating in his brain, _"He shouldn't be so fake all the time..."_

But he wasn't, was _never_ fake! It was his _job_ to smile. To be _happy_. To be _flawless!_

He should sleep now. He couldn't be happy, couldn't be flawless, if he couldn't follow his damn schedule!

Ignoring the intensifying pain in his chest, he ran back to his room, forcing his breaths to be steady... but wait... why did he feel... ticklish? Something cool and wet was trailing down his cheeks...

Was he... god forbid, _crying?_

No. _No_. He shouldn't cry.

He _couldn't_.

He hadn't wasted his tears since... since 2002.

Crying himself to sleep had been useless... who knew if it would be useful now?

No. He had to follow his schedule. What was it again?

_Take sleeping pills._

_Wake up refreshed._

_Watch, join the boys in training._

He couldn't very well do that in the middle of the night, could he? Clutching his head, he ran through his memory, searching for the next step...

But wait. Wait. _They_ always made sure he had footage of every training session–they were all safely stored on his USB, his laptop, his computer, and his phone.

_You can never be too cautious, Bayer._

With an irritated sound he hoped would get rid of the voice in his head, he turned on his phone, flipping through applications to get to the last training session before the derby–

 _Wait_.

He locked the screen, hoping the date was anything but that, anything but that. But it was _1:58 AM_ and–

He flicked his thumb to open another app; his memo, and on top, written in gigantic red text was:

_B04 vs. Scheissbock  
_

_BayArena 15:30_

_TOMORROW!_

And the date, the date he’d written it, was today. Wait, no. Now was 2 o’clock in the morning, and this was tomorrow.

Today was tomorrow.

Yesterday’s tomorrow?

Tomorrow’s yesterday?

Goddammit, why the hell did he still care what day it was today–the fucking derby would kick off in only thirteen hours but he hadn't slept a wink!

_Where are those sleeping pills when you need them?!_

_No. Focus, Leverkusen. Focus. Watch the training._

Forcing his mind to empty itself, he played yesterday’s training video.

* * *

Things were running smoothly for once.

Tactics, of how the players would be lined, would be used, and even a couple of predictions played in his mind like a movie, and his hand scribbled on his notebook–the left side for his boys and the right for the goats.

His team had adopted a high-octane approach under Schmidt, and he wasn't complaining–they'd be able to bypass Köln's defense and play attractive football, just the way he liked it... But he could definitely use some improvement in the back four!

He didn't want another embarrassing loss, thank you.

Suddenly, Leverkusen's hands jerked, sending his vibrating phone falling screen down. The sounds of boots hitting taut footballs lingered innocently in the background.

Gritting his teeth, he switched to his messenger and read the message.

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _morning, plastic boy!_

Plastic Boy.

He closed his eyes; quick, heavy breaths pushing his mind to focus, _just focus on the fucking training, Leverkusen!_

_Focus!_

_Focus..._

* * *

 

 _"You know what's funny?" Köln asked, tugging his sleeve as he made his way to his... forbidden friends. "This," he continued, gesturing to the empty seats around him. "This whole..._ crowd _."_

_Leverkusen kept smiling, so wide that he feared his face would break._

_"Also," the goat said, "have you ever heard of your mother?"_

_"I don't have one," Leverkusen replied smoothly, twirling his flagpole in his hand._

_"You do, actually," Köln snickered. "But she's so quiet you can't even hear her in BayArena!" He broke into hysterical laughter, a comical sight for anyone who wasn't the physical embodiment of Bayer 04 Leverkusen. "What're you gonna do with your little choir,_ Bayer? _Sing an opera?"_

_His free fist clenched and unclenched, nails wishing they'd been clawing at a certain neck and not a sweaty palm._

* * *

_"I have an idea," Leverkusen said, eyes alight with the need for revenge._

_His friends, whole bodies coated in sweat yet still burning in spirit, waited for his proposal, hands at the ready._

_It was a masterpiece. A choreography like no other, inspired by countless ones before him, came to life in the small ‘headquarters’. Leverkusen waved flags and directed the flow, led the chanting with the vigor of an orchestral conductor in a march, clapped his hands until they hurt..._

_And applause greeted him._

_His fellow ultras made their ideas known, coloring every shape, every picture, with the intent to unite them, to burn the opposition–_ the goats _–to the ground._

_“I’m so proud of you guys,” Leverkusen said that night. His friends gave him confused looks–who was he to say something like that?–but he merely grinned in reply as he entered his car to prepare himself for his other life, the life they didn’t know about._

_He was thankful for that, though._

_His life as a personification was nothing to be proud of. It only brought him suffering, only brought him pain..._

_Pain that brought him back to reality._

* * *

It was still 3 AM, Leverkusen read, and the clock wasn’t ticking any faster. Not to mention his messenger was still open, LED flashing gleefully at Köln’s most recent message. For lack of anything to do, he read it.

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _still asleep? don’t wanna anger your sugar daddy, huh?_

For fuck's sake, Bayer AG wasn't his fucking sugar daddy! Leverkusen slammed his touchscreen keyboard with angry thumbs, using gratuitous stickers to convey his message.

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Like hell I'm still asleep!_

The reply came a few seconds later.

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _really? heard you usually wake up at 6 :p_

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Where did you hear it? The goat pen?_

**_GeissbockVIII:_** _not from your fans, obviously!_ _  
_

**_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _what is it, goat got your tongue?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _don't have the medicine for that, do you?_

 ** _neverlosen:_** _Well,_ Leverkusen typed acerbically, _my 'sugar daddy' hasn't found a med to cure your stupidity._

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _well, bayer, they're prolly working on how to cure YOURS first! :v_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _btw, is there a pill that can turn your little choir into ACTUAL ultras?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _i wanna hear some noise from the home crowd!_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _oh wait, you CAN'T!_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _HAHAHAHAHA_

Leverkusen scoffed. Just wait 'til he got the last laugh after another 5:1 win!

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _They sure will make some noise when my boys trample yours._

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _that's just plain mean, bayern._

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _*bayer_

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Are you desperate for another steamrolling from your beloved Münchner girlfriend?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _as she so humbly said, "there's no shame in losing to bayern"_

 ** _neverlosen:_** _Is there shame in losing to Bayer?_ Leverkusen typed, adding a smirking sticker for good measure.

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _well unlike herr schmidt, we do have respect for opposition._

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _i guess it doesn't apply to you tho :p_

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _I don't need your respect._

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _i don't expect anything from a plastic boy like you :v_

Well, Leverkusen thought, if he still had an ounce of self-respect, he'd stopped replying to the goat long ago.

But fuck that stupid goat, fuck his silly _tradition_ and all he stood for!

And he needed to kill time... It was only 3:15, an hour and forty-five minutes from his scheduled waking time!

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _hey, plastic boy!_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _you still there?_

Leverkusen tsked. Trust the goat to pester him until he got mad. Didn't he know Leverkusen was better than that?

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Missed me?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _you high, bayer?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _oh wait you always ARE on drugs! :p_

Leverkusen rolled his eyes, his sticker echoing his sentiment.

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _That joke's getting old fast, doesn't it?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _not for you, vivi!_

 _Great,_ Leverkusen grumbled mentally, _we're resorting to nicknames now._

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Vivi?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _from vizekusen, ofc :v_

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Why, that's a very nice nickname..._

Leverkusen racked his mind for a fitting nickname for the little shit, _come on, call him something else for once, Leverkusen!_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _no witty comeback, vivi?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _wait, your sugar daddy's looking, isn't he?_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _you deleting your chat history?_

Well, his 'sugar daddy' wasn't exactly lenient, but they never really spied on him... did they?

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Why would I? I'm alone in my room, wasting my time talking to you._

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _so why are you still here? :p_

 **_neverlosen:_ ** _Because I love you, of course._

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _HAHAHAHAHAHAHA_

 **_GeissbockVIII:_ ** _LMAO HAHAHAHAHAHA_

Fuck it, Leverkusen thought, if he was just going to listen to the goat laughing, he'd rather, well, do anything but!

Turning his notifications off, he sat on the edge of his bed, looking out his window.

The curtains were still open, framing a dark blue sky.

 _3:30,_ he read the clock on his lock screen, scratching his cheek absently with a finger, _I still have ninety minutes of sleep..._

_Eighty-nine..._

He watched his curtains move with air conditioner wind, subtly shifting shadows chasing away his own.

_Eighty-eight..._

The stars were starting to hide behind thick clouds, which in turn would let the sunrise come.

_Eighty-six..._

He wiggled his toes, from the thumb to the pinky, staring emptily at the small wonder his joints were doing.

_Eighty-three..._

A random thought into his mind, thoughts of footballers and their WAGs, and he weighed the plus and minuses of waxing.

_Seventy-seven..._

What if he lost?

_Seventy-five..._

He wouldn't hear the end of it.

_Seventy..._

He rested his head on his hands and his elbow on his thighs, bleached blond curls slipping between his fingers.

.

.

.

_Ten..._

What was he living for?

_Nine..._

His owner? No. He'd rebelled against them all his life he couldn't imagine himself being their little puppet.

_Eight..._

But... but him always smiling, always laughing, never once leaking a hint of any other emotion... wasn't it a form of... of...

_Seven..._

No. No. He had another life. A fun life. A _free_ life.

_Six..._

He recalled Offenbach, in his arms, showering his body with soft kisses in matchless nights.

_Five..._

But he was also an ultra, a supporter who lit flares for the heck of it and fought with fans of the goat. What did he live for, anyway? Adrenaline?

_Four..._

Sleeping pills. He lived for sleeping pills.

_Three..._

How much sleep had he got?

_Two..._

Oh, sleep...

_One..._

He probably should get some...

His eyelids drooped, and so did his head as his tense muscles relaxed...

But a certain piano intro brought him up with a jolt. And then drums...

_Du bist für uns die beste Mannschaft auf der Welt,_

_Deine Fans sind immer bei dir._

Reflexively, he joined in the hymn, mumbling the tune with a grogginess that lowered the pitch of his voice into unfamiliar depths.

"Wenn hier ein Spiel beginnt,

gibt es nur einen der gewinnt: Bayer 04..."

_Du hast uns schon so viel gegeben,_

_Darum sind wir so gerne hier..._

_Wir schwenken uns're Fahnen in jedem Stadion,_

_Wir schwenken sie für Bayer 04..._

On any other day, he would already be enjoying the song like a good fan should, but he couldn't move, he was so, so exhausted, and hungry, and thirsty, thirsty for rest...

But he needed those pills.

The chorus was starting, oh _shithewaslateforeverything–_

_Bayer…_

_Get up, Leverkusen!_

_Bayer 04…_

_Get up!_

_Wir stehen zu dir…_

"Now!" he ordered himself sternly, forcing every fiber of his being to stand upright, but oh fuck he was so fucking tired and he couldn't even take the stupid first step...

But _sleep_.

He needed _sleep._

_Do it for the schedule, Leverkusen!_

_You can't do anything else if you miss the first step!_

_Bayer,_

_Bayer 04,_

_Wir stehen zu dir!_

_Yes,_ the voice in his head returned, encouraging for once, _come on. We'll stand by you._

So he took the step.

And another.

And another.

And finally, Leverkusen left the cashier of a nearby apothecary, carrying a bottle of sleeping aid.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Bayer AG *did* trademark "Vizekusen". Jerks.)
> 
> After all the fun, when it hit 2,000 words, this chapter turned into an absolute monster. I knew where I wanted it to go and where Jen wanted it to go, but I had to squeeze all the creative juices in my brain just to give this chapter a weak ending, in my opinion. We thought about a bonus scene, but it didn't really work out. Leverkusen will never find an actual escape, anyway.
> 
> It's easy to say that I'm not happy with this, but I'm slightly proud that I could concoct a 3,800-word chapter to make up for the long wait. What do you think?
> 
> Thank you for reading,  
> Reg


	12. The Conference Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash reaction to UCL: Real Madrid v. Schalke 04, second leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited 17.11.16)

FC Schalke 04 logged on to his account after the celebrations had ended, giddy to assert bragging rights to his 'friends'.

 _ **Koenigsblau04** is online_ in no time.

Putting on his headphones, Schalke entered the chatroom of the 'Big Four', praying all three of his rivals to be online...

_**neverlosen** is online_

_**SterndesSuedens** is online_

_**echtelieber** is online_

"Great," Schalke grinned, and typed: _Hi, everyone. Video call time ;)_

Three screens lit up to show the other clubs: top right was Bayern, top left _Lüdenscheid Nord_ , and bottom was Bayer, all wearing mixed expressions, the pest more so.

"Congratulations," Bayer said without preamble, his tone as flat as the line his tightly-pursed lips made. To be honest, Schalke liked this Bayer more than the nausea-inducing, silver-tongued guy he pretended to be.

"You really should've scored two more," Bayern spat, her hatred for Real burning in her ice blue eyes. "I would have loved to see that shit cry in shame."

Schalke shrugged. "At least we won."

"Nothing short of an advance would have satisfied me," Bayern scoffed, causing Neverkusen to wince.

"Won, your ass!" _Lüdenscheid_ piped up, laughing hysterically. "For once, I agree with the arrogant bitch."

"Fuck you, _Zecken_!" Bayern roared, typing a string of swear words and directing it to his beloved enemy.

"Keep it up, Bayern!" Schalke cheered, raining down profanity on the fucker as well, though verbally, referring to his tenth-place finish, his loss to Juventus, his idiotic celebrations...

"While you three are being incredibly mature, am I allowed to get some coffee?" Bayer asked, his high-pitched voice sweeter than honey. "It won't take long,"

In Leverkusen's screen, Bayern kept insulting Dortmund's mother while Schalke came up with more creative stuff to use against the bees.

"Well, then, I'll take that as a yes," Bayer smiled, leaving the chatroom with an unnatural spring in his steps. No one noticed the Leverkusener's absence, though... as usual.

Meanwhile, in the chatroom... Schalke, Bayern, and Dortmund took heavy breaths after a heated argument, chest heaving like crazy under their respective clothing.

"I hate to say this," Schalke panted, "but Bayern..."

The female personification perked up. "Yeah?"

"I hope you win."

Bayern grinned. "Will do, _Scheiße_."

Schalke's eyes widened. "The fu-"

"Aww, shut up, _Scheiße_." Dortmund snapped. "I'll win everything for you."

"I'd rather be relegated than see you win the Champions League, _Zecken_!" Schalke spat.

"Well, I hope you do!" Dortmund shot back, slamming his fist on his keyboard, resulting in random text in the chatroom. "Say hi to Sechzig when you meet her!"

Schalke got up from his chair, rolling up his sleeves. "Why you-"

"Hey, lovebirds," Bayern said with a sneer as the Ruhr rivals fought in the background. "Get a room, would you?"

"Sssh, Bayern," Leverkusen, who'd came back in the heat of the action when no one could've seen him if they'd tried, hissed, "I think we should leave them alone,"

The Bavarian's grin grew wider. "With pleasure."

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know 'echte Lieber' isn't grammatically correct, but you know. #YOLO


	13. Short Shorts Can Only Protect You So Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the crackiest as of yet; it only functions to test the limits of my creativity, so… for your sanity, please don’t take it seriously. I MEAN IT.

**_“Bayern was kinda after Karlsruhe’s ass in the ‘90s, you know?”_ **

 

 _Whoever said that_ , Karlsruher SC thought as a certain pair of ice blue eyes mentally undressed him, _was so spot-on._

“Karlsruhe…” Bayern giggled, tapping his posterior teasingly, finger by finger, “you know your players can always come to me, right?”

The _Eurofighter_ sidestepped, glaring daggers at the Bavarian. “Stop stealing my players already!”

Another giggle left her asking-to-be-taped mouth as she shifted closer to him. “Come on, sweetie,” Bayern cooed, her muscle-bound butt kissing his, “I’m not stealing your players. I’m just laying the foundation of FC Baden München to be born from our love.”

“FC _Baden_ München?!” Karlsruhe roared, pushing the taller woman off his backside, “ _Love?!_ Who the hell do you think you are?!”

Bayern tilted her head slightly, a childish pout curling her thin lips. “I’m Bayern,” she whined, “your beautiful bride!”

Okay, Karlsruhe messaged his temples, taking deep breaths with every profanity flashing in his brain, he could take defection, yes, and he could take inappropriate physical advances, but this. Was. Too far. _Not to mention she’s ugly as fuck,_ he grumbled; like normal people, he found no beauty in the towering beast, nor did he like the shoulder-length red hair framing her perpetually smug face.

So he did what every other club, save Bochum, would do in this situation: he punched her in the face.

Her body slammed to the ground with a satisfying crack, but Karlsruhe didn’t care less if it was the concrete or her bones–he merely lunged at her and they rolled around in the deserted basement, pulling and biting and kicking like those stupid wrestlers on TV….

Mostly, though, the fight was Bayern chasing Karlsruhe’s buttocks as if it was her lifeline. “Help,” Karlsruhe whimpered as Bayern pinned him, her ass tightly on his, “HELP!”

“Karlsruhe!” Hertha’s voice came from far away, so far away but it was getting nearer, thank god–and _smack!_ The Old Lady knocked Bayern out.

“Karlsruhe,” Hertha sighed, hugging Karlsruhe’s limp form gently, “did you have a nightmare?”

He blinked to see, not a KO’d personification and a dimly-lit empty space, but his room, blue and white and warm, and Hertha Berlin, his actual beautiful bride. And so he spilled, squeezing her body tight, letting her graying blond tresses caress his bare shoulders.

“Oh, Karlsruhe,” Hertha chuckled, patting him in the head, “you _do_ have a nice ass, though.”

 

**fin**

 


	14. Interlude: I hate you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crack Leverkusen x Köln AU based on this prompt (http://writeworld.org/post/116602664854/i-hate-you)

I hate you.

I hate how your owner treats you like their PR puppet, controlling and watching your every move as they expect you to bear the cross wherever you go.

I hate how they punish you for every fake-looking smile,

Every hateful look in your fake blue-green eyes,

And how they delete every tweet that “doesn’t boost the image of the company”…

.

I hate your intense pressing and the fact that your stadium is still as quiet as a grave.

I hate how your fans’ passion doesn’t burn like mine… Even with the chanting and the flags and the flares, they’re  _nothing!_

_._

Wait, you don’t even have actual tradition! Why should I even talk about all this?

Well, I hate how you win every game with ease,

I hate how you cruise to the Champions League,

And I hate your damned tall and muscular physique…

.

But I love it when your body is pressed to mine,

When you take off your contacts and glare with your red eyes.

And when your voice rises to argue with me,

Your ‘hell’s and ‘fuck you’s are music to my ears.

.

My dear Vize…  _Leverkusen_ , I never thought I’d say this,

But I love you,

Not the club,

But the  _person_ you are.

Please don’t let them take your fire away,

Because if they do,

There won’t be a Leverkusen to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposted from http://freibulous.tumblr.com/post/116743551109/i-hate-you.


	15. [2015/16] Under the Spotlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Media Days have started! Join the Bundesliga boys and girls as they prepare for the part of the season they wished they could skip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lewadda is back from the dead, baby. And yes, I dropped the 'wski'. Enjoy the new chapter!  
> Also, I'm so sorry for cancelling the Eurovision special. Maybe next year?
> 
> (edited 17.11.16)

_Whoever’s documenting us,_ SV Darmstadt 98 thought as she reread the address on her phone, _must be lazy as fuck…_

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised at her vocabulary – hanging out (well, arguing) with Karlsruhe, Kaiserslautern and Braunschweig would do that to anyone…

Hmm, speaking of those three, it was _unfortunate_ for such big clubs with rich history to not get promoted, wasn’t it? _But naaaah_ , Darmstadt grinned mischievously. She was definitely looking forward to filling the next page of her football fairytale!

* * *

FC Ingolstadt 04 looked up at his coach slowly. “Papa?” he called, tugging the sleeve of Ralph Hasenhüttl’s shirt.

“Yes, Ingolstadt?” Papa asked. His face looked sooo bored, but Ingolstadt knew anyone would be, like really! It seemed like they’d been on this train for _years!_ “Papa, are we there yet?” he whined, secretly hoping that asking would make the trip faster.

“Not yet, Ingolstadt,” Papa replied, messing his hair. “No, Papa, don’t do that!” he protested, swatting his large hand off his head, “I’m not a kid anymore!” He was already eleven years old, okay? He didn’t need a Papa. He wanted to live alone like RB Leipzig, to do whatever and whenever he wanted! Why did the bosses still force him to live with a “father figure”? He’s a personification, not a normal kid! Why should he go to a boring school? Why should he be watched while eating? Everyone knew he hated vegetables! Why?!

“Ingolstadt,” Papa said, touching his cheek instead, “I’m sorry, okay? You know I like your hair when it’s neatly trimmed like this.” He chuckled a little. Ingolstadt pouted. “Of course you like it, Papa, you trimmed it yourself!” the boy playfully punched his caretaker, “Why can’t I have long hair like Bochum?”

“Bochum?” Papa asked, raising an eyebrow, “His hair is awful. Especially with that hairclip.”

The little Bavarian groaned. “But- but I want my hair to touch my shoulders! It’s so cool, Papa!” He patted Papa’s shoulder for good measure, but all he got was an unconvinced glare. “Fine,” he grumbled, “at least I can grow bangs? Like Karlsruhe?”

Papa’s eyes were unfocused. Maybe he was picturing his (old, haha!) bully, with his shaggy brown hair.

“He looks like he doesn’t have a comb,” Papa finally said. Ingolstadt decided to change tactics. In a second, he was staring at his coach with dark eyes as big as saucers, causing Hasenhüttl to wince and changed the topic himself. “Anyway, are you excited for the Media Days?”

Ingolstadt’s face brightened that instant. “Of course, Papa! I can’t wait to meet the others!” He was jumping on his seat now, earning him annoyed looks from other passengers. “Especially Bayern. She’s so… so _badass_!”

When Ingolstadt realized what he’d just said, his hands comically flew to cover his mouth. “Sorry, Papa,” he squeaked.

Now, Ralph Hasenhüttl couldn’t bring himself to be harsh to the spoiled, irritating boy that was the physical embodiment of FC Ingolstadt, but he couldn’t the child grow up with no manners, either.

“Ingolstadt,” Hasenhüttl said, a patronizing hand on the 11-year-old’s shoulder, “what did I tell you about bad words?”

The personification sighed, head hung in shame. “I _must not_ say them, Papa,”

“Good,” the manager nodded. Let’s all pray the first division clubs wouldn’t undo everything he’d taught his ‘son’…

* * *

Elsewhere…

 

As usual, Europe-bound clubs gather on a corner of whatever meeting place they were in (in this case, studio), FC Augsburg looking out of place.

The UEL club was sandwiched between 25-time-German champions, FC Bayern München, and her chaser, VfL Wolfsburg, his lean body a stark contrast from the fanservice muscles of the two. It didn’t trouble Augsburg much, though. What troubled him was how… _casually_ the six other clubs spoke of trebles, Spanish giants and the like, and though he was an expert at poker faces, intimidation froze him in place.

“Earth to Augsburg,” Bayern called with a hard pat on his back, “you still there?”

He blinked before meeting her gaze. “Yeah.”

“Don’t be so shy, mate,” Gladbach added, flashing the ginger a toothy grin. “It’s my first time in Champions League, too. _Ish_."

“But you’ve been in Europa,” Augsburg said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but you’ll make it!” Dortmund cheered from opposite his seat, a fist punching the air. “Sure, I’ll be your rival later on, but I’m rooting for you! You’re too good to go down…” He trailed off. _Must be remembering Freiburg,_ Augsburg mused, feeling a pang of sympathy for the relegated club and the friend she’d left behind. Would he have to sacrifice Europe for domestic survival, like she had?

“Tch. No one’s ‘too good’ to go down,” Gladbach spat as if forcing everyone to recall his recent brushes with relegation.

“But _I_ think you’ll do well, FCA,” Schalke piped up, a grudging note in his deep voice. “You’re more _consistent_ than _Lüdenscheid_ over here,” he poked his fellow Ruhr club right on his ‘BVB 09, Echte Liebe’ tattoo.

“Oh, shut up, _Scheiße_ ,” Dortmund snapped, “just because you consistently _suck_ , doesn’t mean you can bully those who don’t.” A sneer twisted _Die Schwarzgelben’s_ handsome face, practically begging the Royal Blues to punch it. And so, Schalke did.

“Ouch,” Gladbach snickered. That was one hell of a punch. Leverkusen hid his snicker behind his hands.

“You…” Dortmund growled, rubbing his aching nose.

With Schalke sneering back, they left the group for a more physical _Revierderby._

A chuckle escaped Bayern at her enemies’ antics. “Oi, Augsburg!” she called again. The ginger beside her responded with a ‘hmm’. “How does it feel to watch the two up close?”

Wolfsburg and the Rhine boys stared hard at the younger Bavarian, trying to coax an answer out of the stoic man.

“Funny?” Augsburg answered, with a tone that made it sound like a question. Wolfsburg laughed. “You don’t sound like you mean it!”

The _Fuggerstädter_ shrugged. “I guess I’m used to it.” He really was used to seeing clubs fight. Nürnberg and Fürth's drunken Oktoberfest brawls weren't much different from the Ruhr Valley rivals', really. He hoped he could be used to being in the _company_ of these giants, too…

* * *

There were confident people, and then there was Hamburger SV.

Six-time German champion, playoff specialist (Fürth and Karlsruhe could stay in 2. Bundesliga forever, he didn’t care) and especially beater of “oh-so-great” Gladbach, Augsburg and Bayern was entering the studio with a swagger unseen in him before.

Unfortunately, his swag didn't impressed anyone, except if you count Hannover’s friendly ‘hi’ as an expression of awe. Even worse, Mainz and Frankfurt didn’t even try to hide their laughter (or in the case of Hoffenheim, his derisive remarks). Ugh. He should find Werder lest he died of boredom here. He opened his mouth to ask his boyfriend where the shit is, but when he saw Hertha’s suspicious glances, an imaginary light bulb appeared over his head.

“Yo, Karlsruhe’s whore!”

At her death glare, he couldn’t help but think: _This photoshoot won’t be so boring after all._

* * *

“Welcome to the Bundesliga!” Eintracht Frankfurt exclaimed, snaking a hand around Darmstadt's shoulders with a less-than-friendly laugh. At the physical contact, she tensed, but took it in stride a moment later. “Thank you, Frankfurt. How are you?”

“Great,” the Eagles replied. “And you, Darmstadt?”

She looked up at him with a beam. “Never better!”

“How can you not?” Frankfurt’s hearty laugh rang in the hallway, “really, I can congratulate you all day.” There was a strangely comfortable silence as they walked inside the studio. “Anyway,” the taller man continued, “Ready for the derby?” Challenge sparkled in his red eyes, dangerous yet inviting.

“Of course,” Darmstadt accepted, her blue eyes echoing his. “And I’m gonna win them all!”

* * *

If there was one thing every club preferred their archenemy over, that thing would be a makeover.

Bayern was insisting “Hertha’s kind of makeup” didn’t suit her, demanding the poor makeup artist to 'fix her up' the way she did the male personifications.

Stuttgart had had his dark brown dye forcefully removed, leaving his hair very, _very_ blond. “It will bring out your eyes,” the makeup artist had said, his green eyes glinting with evil.

Even Hertha almost cried when they said she had to take off her bow (a parting gift from her lover years ago) despite accepting her new, layered hairstyle.

So when 1. FC Köln came in to a horde of dissatisfied clubs, he feared for himself as he took his seat on the torture chair.

“Hi, Köln,” his makeup artist, a young woman whose build reminded him of Nuernberg. “Don’t be afraid, ‘kay?”

“Uh…” Köln said, “do I have to take this off?” He indicated at the thin hair tie holding his ponytail.

“Of course,” she smirked.

And then, the torture began.

* * *

“Afternoon, everyone!”

Seventeen Bundesliga clubs gathered in the middle of the spacious studio, prepped and pumped for the so-called ‘BL Media Days’. Or for it to be over, but that didn’t really matter. A DFL official welcomed them in their headquarters. The greetings/bullshit was followed by Darmstadt’s introduction, and of course: “But most importantly, have fun!”

* * *

The first photoshoot was standard – they’d be photographed head to waist with hands on their hips, a plain white wall their background.

To make things simpler, the officials would call the impatient personifications in alphabetical order, because of which, Werder Bremen and Wolfsburg decided to treat themselves (and the others, on the officials’ insistence) lunch.

“FC Augsburg!” came the first call, and true to his no-nonsense personality, it only took him a minute or two, even with the touch-ups.

“Bayer 04 Leverkusen!”

The _Retortenclub_ rolled his eyes. “Later, okay” he told Bayern, who gave him a thumb up in reply. As a true PR man, Leverkusen stepped up to the stage with confidence, a charming smile set to melt fangirls and fanboys’ hearts on his face.

“Hello, cutie,” the makeup artist teased, applying a dash of bronzer on Leverkusen’s cheek. He responded accordingly – with a wink and “Hello to you too!”

Then _crash!_ The door to the studio slammed open, causing almost everyone to jump in surprise, and came in Ralph Hasenhüttl, red-faced and panting as he helped his charge up from his face-down fall. “We… apologize for our lateness,” the coach said. Beside him, FC Ingolstadt 04 stood with a broken nose and tearful eyes. A laugh could be heard from his fellow _Aufsteiger_ , but she disguised it as a cough before Hasenhüttl could do anything.

“No problem, Sir!” one of the officials said amicably. After a grateful nod from the manager (and a three-minute chiding to Germany’s youngest club), he left. “Use Darmstadt’s phone to call me when I’m done, okay?”

Darmstadt’s fists clenched - she couldn’t make a bad impression in front of the Bundesligists, but everyone was laughing at her! Not to mention Inge’s annoying ‘okay, Papa! See you later!’

Like she hadn’t had enough of that squirt in the second division…

Desperate to stop the laughter directed at him, the club nicknamed _Die Schanzer_ turned to face his new ‘friends’. “Hi, guys!” he shouted, waving his hands in the air. “I’m FC Ingolstadt! And you?” He jumped to a bench where two clubs, one in green and the other blue, sat. “What’s your name?”

The guy in green stood up, and damn he was _huge_! Ingolstadt had to stand on his toes just to see his beard! Fortunately, he could see his arms, his legs, and woah he had _so much hair_ … how cool! _I wish I had a body like that,_ the little boy thought, hand almost touching his muscular calf… almost… _almost…_

“Wolfsburg,” the huge man answered, snatching Ingolstadt’s hand to shake it. “And this is Hoffenheim,” he gestured to the man in blue, who was black-haired, blue-eyed and sulking.

(The introductions, unnecessary as they were, continued, much to the officials’ annoyance – to make it worse, everyone was either too amused or too mesmerized by the pint-sized Bavarian’s “cuteness” to stop him.

Seven minutes and thirty-one seconds later – “THANK GOD!” one of the officials whooped – Ingolstadt had made himself known to every club but _Die Werkself_ , who had just finished posing for the cameras.)

* * *

When Leverkusen stepped off the stage with another stranger’s (well, at least she wasn’t a _Scheißbock_ fan) phone number, a red-haired boy – promoted Ingolstadt, Leverkusen read his club crest – approached him, confusion narrowing his dark eyes.

“What’s wrong, Ingolstadt?” he asked, letting his persona do the job.

“I’m confused, Sir,” the boy replied, scratching his head with a pudgy finger. “This thing is for… _personifications_ only, right?”

 _He’s more stupid than I thought_ , Leverkusen made a mental groan, but outwardly, he kneeled to the Audi-backed club’s eye level, his hands on his small shoulders. “Yes, it is,” he said, his voice as soft as the gaze he sent the Bavarian, “you may be young, Ingolstadt dear… but you _are_ one of us.”

To Leverkusen’s surprise, Ingolstadt didn’t jump up and down with renewed self-esteem, but gave him a blank stare instead. “’Us’? Who _are_ you?!” the boy shrieked, as if Leverkusen was some kind of intruder. He resisted the urge to kick the newbie in the groin by offering him a hand to shake. “Bayer Leverkusen,” he introduced himself, grinning eye-to-eye, “nice to meet you!”

“You’re _Bayer Leverkusen_?!” the boy echoed, dumbstruck as he squinted at the cross and lions on his chest. “I thought… I thought you were a player!”

He could hear Gladbach and Köln’s too-loud whispers of ‘The guy looks like Kießling and he doesn't even admit it'.

"Fuck you," Leverkusen muttered, turning on his heel to leave the baby boy. He'd give those two assholes a lesson... but first, he needed a plastic surgery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pun intended ;p  
> And seriously, I hope Hasenhüttl and Kiessling don't kill me for this.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, folks, and happy Eid to all my Muslim readers!
> 
> Reg


	16. The Second Conference Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 16, 2015. Before Matchday 34, Darmstadt, Karlsruhe, and Kaiserslautern wanted to calm their nerves – what’s a better way to do that than a video conference? (Yes, lovely, it's another 2. BL chappie! | Warning: strong language and nudity.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know how this ended, but having some fun at some clubs' expense doesn't hurt, does it?
> 
> (Edited 13.12.16)

Karlsruhe, Baden-Württemberg

22:30

 

“…Bye, Hertha,” Karlsruher SC ended their three-hour conversation, flashing his girlfriend a last smile, “see you in the Bundesliga next season!”

“I’ll be waiting,” Hertha Berlin crooned, a pale hand caressing her webcam. Karlsruhe imagined her soft touch on his body, the feeling of her by his side sending warmth all over him. Ah, if only she could actually _be_ here, showering each other with love with nothing but their bare skin to separate their souls…

“Hey,” she gently brought him back to reality, “we can do it after the playoff, dear.”

A blush, subtle and pleasant, bloomed on the Badener’s cheeks. “Of course, love, _of course.”_

“Well, now that’s settled… good night,” she chuckled, her melodious voice only serving to make him miss her more. “Don’t forget to wear some clothes!”

Karlsruhe smirked at her lack of undergarments. “You too, Hertha.”

"Sure, Kalle,” Hertha replied with a wink. “I’m going to disconnect, okay?”

“Me too,” he returned her wink, “Sweet dreams!”

“I’ll be dreaming of your promotion,”

And she went offline.

Karlsruhe sighed, leaning back on his pillows with his laptop half-closed. Talking to her made him feel calm, confident, _invincible._ Sechzig was desperate to escape relegation, but he had a much better team… and of course, an endless desire to return to where he belonged: in the first tier, going for Europe and meeting his lover on matchdays. As if preventing him from dreaming before he fell asleep, a ‘ping’ cut his train of thoughts.

_You have a new message!_

The 1894-born club reopened his laptop, expecting a Hertha who didn’t want to sleep, but found this instead:

 

 **_WasZumRoteTeufel_ ** _invited you to a conference call!_

 **_WasZumRoteTeufel_ ** _and **lilien98** are online. Accept/decline?_

Karlsruhe clicked his tongue in annoyance; the invitation brought back his nerves, the uneasy feeling in his limbs that prompted him to move to a position where his feet dangled off the edge of his bed, so he could, maybe swing them, quickly and both feet at a time, anything to get rid of the anxiety buzzing in his head, whispering ‘fourth place’ and other unthinkable things…

Another ‘ping’. _You have a new message!_

With the thought of ‘I’ll regret this later’, he read the personal message.

 

 **_WasZumRoteTeufel:_ ** _Yo Karli! You in or not, chicken? :p_

 ** _KSC_Aufstieg2k15:_** _of course, just haven’t said yes,_ he typed. Then, he switched to the notifications tab to accept the invitation. But before the webcam was fully loaded, Kaiserslautern had replied,

 **_WasZumRoteTeufel:_ ** _Well come on! We’re waiting ;)_

With a ghost of a smirk, Karlsruhe moved to the menu he’d opened. Fortunately, it had finished loading, so he put his headphones back on…

* * *

Kaiserslautern, Rhineland-Palatinate

22:06

 

1\. FC Kaiserslautern made sure his wireless headphones were connected to his laptop, a devilish smile adorning his sweaty face... until he felt the heat radiating from his electronic devices turn his innocent summer sweat into cooking oil.

"ARGH!" he groaned, throwing off his damp t-shirt in disgust, "Why the fuck can't the AC be cooler?!"

His landlady's screech could be heard from the door, but the personification didn't give a damn - while Karlsruhe's screen was still loading, Darmstadt was staring dumbly at his abs, he assumed, abs that were broad and muscular and glistening with sweat. His smile widened.

"Hey, 'Lautern," the promotion club called, smiling coyly. "Looking good!”

Kaiserslautern fanned himself with his mousepad. "Thanks, Lilien. Aren't _you_ hot in that, though?" He raised a red eyebrow at her spaghetti strap.

"What kind of 'hot' are you talking about here?" she giggled, propping her face on her knuckles. "If it's _that_ kind of hot, well..." She made a half-smile, half-pout the Red Devils thought only women could do, twirling a strand of her blond hair, "isn't it your expertise as the ruler of hell?"

Lautern laughed, the loud cackle inviting angry knocks from his neighbors. "Of course, my little lily!" He winked, flexing his muscles for her webcam to savor. "How about I take off my pants, too?"

Darmstadt’s face turned redder than his hair.

“I’ll take that as a yes!”

And so, 1. FC Kaiserslautern, Bundesligist-to-be, freed his body of its trappings.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHH!" another voice, usually low-pitched but was now rising to operatic proportions, "WHAT THE _FUCK_ DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, DUMBASS?!"

The redhead pushed his laptop's monitor towards his lower body parts. A suspicious moan could be heard from Darmstadt's side, but Karlsruhe's (who'd finally finished loading!) made a slamming sound as if he just shut his laptop or punched its keyboard.

"Okay, okay", Lautern snorted, directing his webcam to his face once more, "I know you're _Herthasexual_ , Karli, but can't you at least pretend to enjoy the view?"

The Badener furrowed his thick ass eyebrows, teeth bared like a wild(park) animal. "Get your dick off my screen or I'll do it for you."

"How are you gonna do that, Karli?" Lautern challenged, hands on his hips.

"Easy," Karlsruhe snarled, "I'm gonna cut it off."

Darmstadt’s face turned green, her dinner ready to get out of her body, but the two rivals ignored her.

"And I'm gonna make it slow. And. _Painful."_

The third-placed club's menacing tone could strike fear in lesser beings, but not the awesome Red Devil, who'd defeated Bayern München as an Aufsteiger years ago and would definitely win against complacent Ingolstadt tomorrow. "How painful could your circumcision be, Karli dearest?" Kaiserslautern asked, zooming into his face as well, "as painful as Hertha's love bites?"

"Shut up," Karlsruhe gritted out, crossing his arms on his chest. "Unlike your beloved Stuggi, Hertha isn't just someone you could fuck."

"Aww, come on, Karli," Lautern retorted with a playful wink, "I'm sure you've slept with Vf- _Bae_ , too."

"When hell freezes over!" the brunette snapped.

"Oh no," Lautern smirked, his sharper-than-human canine glinting in the fluorescent light of his apartment. "Hell isn't going to freeze over, my K-S-C," he said with the speed one would use when talking to a dense three-year-old, "Hell's gonna be a _1\. Bundesliga_ stadium!"

“Never gonna happen!” Karlsruhe booed, and coupled with Darmstadt’s hesitant laughter, he felt that he should’ve been more dramatic – it would’ve stung less!

* * *

Darmstadt, Hesse

Thirty minutes earlier…

 

_"Kaiserslautern?" Arminia Bielefeld said, his face full of envy... and yet, she could see grudging respect. "Really?"_

_SV Darmstadt 98, poor, timid and newly promoted, looked up at the club she'd narrowly defeated with wide blue eyes. "What's with him?"_

_"Just you wait," Arminia scoffed, "he's the most annoying and self-centered personification ever. You're gonna wish you weren't promoted!"_

Darmstadt had seen his exaggerated description of Lautern as a butthurt expression back then, but now, after a season of being looked down upon and bullied before becoming his and Karlsruhe's third wheel, she thought Bielefeld had been 100% accurate.

_“What can a promotion club like you do?” the four-time German champion scoffed, “It’s just dumb luck.”_

Sure, Darmstadt’s boys had shut him up with a 3:0 win, but she couldn’t forget how those two had ditched Braunschweig, their fellow ‘cool kid’ who’d long since missed promotion, to mock her.

Had this happened two years ago, when her status as a professional football club was in the brink of collapse, the ‘deadly duo’ would’ve brought her down, but now, all their condescension only incited her burning desire to get to the top.

Getting to the top, she’d learned, took more than ‘dumb luck’ and trained physique. It also took a trained mind, one that could read between the lines and twist every word, every action to her needs…

Even her own. While she never stopped believing in her team, she would act otherwise – in front of Sandhausen, Fortuna or Soda, she would put on a cool smile, even bluff when needed, but before KSC and FCK… she would be shy and insecure, only a little hopeful, and completely astounded when she won. All that only made them less and less guarded with her – so now, before she claimed the coveted second place, she’d put on a last show.

 

_Welcome, **lilien98**!_

_Notifications:_

**_WasZumRoteTeufel_ ** _updated his status: (photo) – ONE MORE MATCHDAY TO AUFSTIEG!_

Her reflexes brought her to the photo he’d uploaded. It was typical Lautern – he looked incredibly silly (as usual), with the darkish lighting, how it added sharpness to his features, his shirtless display, and then the glimmer of FCK’s red logo in his background…

Seriously, the whole club had a flair for dramatics. Sometimes Darmstadt wished she could do that, but compared to K-town, she had more limited financial (or graphic design) power. But that’s okay. She could stand being the bullied for this last matchday.

_Ping!_

Darmstadt went back to her notifs tab, and unsurprisingly, it was the Red Devils again.

 

 **_WasZumRoteTeufel_ ** _invited you to a conference call. Accept/decline?_

Her answer was clear as day.

* * *

Karlsruhe, Baden-Württemberg

Present time

 

“Never gonna happen!” Karlsruher SC snorted, Darmstadt joining in with a reserved laugh. “Besides, I’m the one who’s gonna steamroll Sechzig tomorrow.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Lautern wagged a finger in front of the webcam. “No can do. My girlfriend’s gonna be desperate for _Klassenerhalt_ , you won’t have time to score at all! And St. Pauli’s seconds away from relegation, too, so you’re not gonna have it easy either, _Lilien_.”

“I know,” Darmstadt mumbled, something like resignation shadowing her features, “but I’ll do my best…”

Karlsruhe rolled his eyes, wishing she weren’t so pathetic. Someone with a mentality like Darmstadt was _not_ Bundesliga material. Well, all the better for his boys.

“ _’Do my best’_? Puh-leeze,” Lautern scoffed, “If you’re promoted, I’ll run around Kaiserslautern naked.”

A mental image of his rival running around his city with the same clothes he was (not) wearing at the moment suddenly gave him a _brilliant_ idea. “Oi, Lautern!”

“What, Karli?”

“If _I_ get promoted,” the Badener said, “you have to run around _Karlsruhe_ too!” He paused for a moment to think of a better punishment. “Oh, and sing my songs, please. Tell my city you’re happy I’m back to big time!”

Lautern doubled over in laughter. “Ha! Then you gotta sing _my_ songs too… with my crest on your back!”

“Challenge accepted,” Karlsruhe replied. “As for you, Darmstadt…”

“Please, don’t make it too hard!” she begged with puppy eyes, “I don’t want to get naked!”

Karlsruhe racked his brain for something, something hard but not that embarrassing for the small club. “Fine, but you gotta treat me and Hertha on every date. Fair enough?”

“Yeah,” the blonde nodded, “Thanks, Karlsruhe.”

A silent two seconds passed.

“Oh, sorry, Lili dear, I almost forgot you!” the fourth-placed club (who would definitely stay there; Karlsruhe preferred _Die Lilien_ for third, her _team_ deserved at least that) exclaimed. “Here goes. If I’m promoted, you have to pay my bills for the next _Hinrunde_!”

Darmstadt gulped. “I…” She swallowed her saliva again, scratching her sweaty head, “I… Okay. I’ll use the salary from my side jobs.”

Side _jobs_ , not side job, like the one Karlsruhe had. Like most personifications had. Doesn’t that son of a bitch have a fucking heart? But a bet was a bet, and she’d agreed. Besides, that asshole wouldn’t get promoted if he could help it!

“Anyway,” the Hessian said, recovering more quickly than ever, “since you two have placed your bets, isn’t it my turn?”

Kaiserslautern beat him to replying. “Oh, yes, dear Lili, what’s your bet?”

“Weeeeell,” Darmstadt smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes, “If I end my 33-year-long wait…”

“Yeeeeeees?” the two rivals said in unison (and shooting each other dirty looks afterwards).

“Y’all have to do what you told each other,” she commanded, her blue eyes twinkling, “so you, Karli,” her lips twisted into a feral smirk, much like what the former Eurofighter saw so often in the redhead in their conference call, “kindly run around Karlsruhe, wear nothing but my flag, sing my songs, and shave those goddamned eyebrows of yours!”

Karlsruhe’s jaw dropped. He’d never imagined she would say that last part. Words had completely left him; with hands feeling his thick, dark eyebrows for what might be the last time, he watched horrible, _horrible_ things playing in his head – like an outraged Hertha BSC – and he groaned.

On the other side of the screen, 1. FC Kaiserslautern had turned from a powerful ruler of hell into… well, a ruler of hell nervously biting his fingernails.

“And you, Lautern,” Darmstadt continued, “Since running is good for your beautiful muscles, you can run around Karlsruhe and Darmstadt, too. _Wär das wunderschön?”_

For a moment, it might seem like K-Town would mirror Karlsruhe’s reaction, but he only laughed maniacally. “Never, you mortals!”

“Let’s see about that!” Darmstadt boasted. “Worst of luck, guys!”

“You too!” the two boys chorused, ending the conference call with middle fingers and burning anticipation for tomorrow.

* * *

Kaiserslautern, Rhineland-Palatinate

May 17, 2015

 

 _Fourth,_ the 1900-born _Traditionsverein_ lamented as he trudged along the emergency stairs to his apartment, sweat (hell no, he wasn’t crying at all!) inexplicably coming out of his eyes, _I finished fourth AGAIN._

By the time he arrived at his floor, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain the hard floor sent the tired limbs and screamed to the ceiling: “FUCK YOU, INGOLSTADT!”

His voice was loud and hoarse, prompting all-too-familiar nags from downstairs, but he had no more fucks to give. “AND FUCK YOU TOO, DARMSTADT!” he raised a clenched fist and swung it like a bat, hoping the football gods would hear him from their hated heaven, “I HOPE YOU GET RELEGATED NEXT SEASON!”

Unfortunately, the voice of his landlady from right behind him put an end to his prayers. “Lautern, please! I have newcomers here!”

He turned his head to her direction, preparing himself for a long dressing down… but then, she pulled him into a tight hug. Her long, frizzy hair brushed on his face as she wept, wetting his damp shoulder, furious and disappointed and shaking uncontrollably, and he remembered-

She'd been at Fritz-Walter-Stadion. Watching the boys play. She’d worn the orange jersey he so hated, two scarves around her neck. She’d joined in the choreo, too, and she had cheered, chanted, cried-

  _“I’m sorry!”_ Kaiserslautern choked, letting his tears wet his cheeks as he tightened his grip, nails digging into her scarf (her symbol of support, of love and faith for him and only him but _what have I done?)_ , “Fuck, I screwed up-” More sobs racked his body and oh god, the pain, the pain of his faithful fans and his own, he didn't care if she found out his real identity, he was just- “I’m so, so _sorry…”_

* * *

Karlsruhe, Baden-Württemberg

The same evening…

 

“It’s not the end, Karlsruhe,” Markus Kauczinski said the umpteenth time, wrongly mistaking his personification’s jitters for something other than the prospects of running around the city with his dick exposed and his eyebrows gone, “there’s still a chance.”

“It’s not that!” Karlsruher SC half-snapped, fed up with the pep talk, “I just…” He looked away, feeling heat rise up to his cheeks. “God, you’d kill me for this.”

“For what?” the manager inquired, blue eyes narrowing behind his spectacles.

He shook his head. “I have to go home.”

Thankfully, Kaucze didn’t push the issue. “Get some rest.”

“I will,” Karlsruhe replied with a nod. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

The moment he stepped out of Wildparkstadion’s dressing room, he turned his cellphone back on, the gears in his mind turning for his own dignity. No one had said ‘automatically promoted’ when they were betting… _so what if I win the playoff?_

The thought of returning to the first tier brought a grin to his face, and so, he logged in without hesitation.

 

END

* * *

Bonus Scene

 

Karlsruher SC ran to the training field, every pant a wish that he wouldn't mar his five-year record of punctuality...

But it was no use. He swore under his breath upon his arrival. Everyone was warming up now, leaving him completely exposed to his head coach (who, strangely, didn't bring a weapon to kill him.)

"Uh..." He laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, I-"

"First things first, Karlsruhe," Kauczinski said, hands crossed over his chest, "What happened to your eyebrows?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing first, I would like to profusely apologize to all fans of Karlsruher SC and 1. FC Kaiserslautern reading this 8)
> 
> Second thing second, congratulations to Ingolstadt and Darmstadt for your achievement! May you slay the next season, and while survival will be your main goal, I'd love to see both of you winning the league or something ;)
> 
> Auf Wiedersehen!  
> Reg
> 
> P.S.: As a 12th grader who has to prepare for exams and uni, I'd like to announce that this will be my last update until about June. I'm sorry for the inconvenience... just... wish me luck! <3


	17. Of Red and Blue: Jubiläum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bayern and Bochum celebrate the first anniversary of their Fanfreundschaft. Drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited 12.12.16)

Munich, September 1974

 

VfL Bochum, the little club from Ruhr, sat across one of Germany's best clubs this decade, Bayern München. A dainty glass of champagne sat before the redheaded personification, while the club going in  _blau-weiß_  opted for the cheaper drink of... water. It was a cold evening, more so in the air-conditioned restaurant only the richer of the two could feasibly afford to go to.

"Thanks for inviting me here," Bochum said, after a thirty-minute queue and holding hands with a Bayern that looked like a complete stranger (what? She was wearing a  _dress_ , of all things!), "thought you were gonna take me to the bar, to commemorate that  _'Grüße!'_  banner and all!"

The younger club beamed, her contagious energy obviously affecting Bochum, who was sweating and blushing uncontrollably. He still couldn't believe he'd been so close to such a big club, and he'd never thought in a million years that she would clean up so nicely!

"It's been a year," she replied, shrugging her broad shoulders, which were covered with a bespoke gossamer shawl, "haven't we gone to enough bars already?"

"Sure, but you're... you're..." he tried to find the right words, but failed. "... _Bayern!_ How can you get enough of bars?"

"I get bored of bars easily enough," the Bavarian chuckled, "but of course, I can't get bored of the beer."

At her words, Bochum eyed her drink curiously. "Why did you order champagne, then?"

"I'm saving the best for Oktoberfest," she replied, a grin lighting her face, "and you, Bochum, are invited to be my date."

 

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I somehow misread 1973 as 1976. Sorry.


	18. Of Red and Blue: Eyes on the Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zusammen stehen, zusammen feiern, Bochum und die Bayern!  
> At April 29, 2015, FC Bayern and VfL Bochum stood together on the sidelines of Allianz Arena, watching the clash of two titans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. It's been a long time... but I won't be active after this. This is just a celebratory post on my 17th birthday/Der Bomber's 70th x) I hope you like it!
> 
> (Edited 17.11.16)

Munich, 29 April 2015

DFB-Pokal Semifinal, Allianz Arena

 

“It really has to come to this, hasn’t it…”

VfL Bochum, dressed in striking red and white, stood up from the bench and hugged his best friend from behind, nose pressed to her back casually, as if it wasn’t sticky with sweat. “It’s okay,” he reassured her, “you’ll make it to the final..."

Bayern turned around sharply, determination glistening in her icy blue eyes. “I never believed we won’t,” she hissed, “we could slaughter Porto with everyone injured. _Zecken_ should be easier. This  _must_ be!"

At her words, Bochum stole a glance at Guardiola, who was embracing the opposition coach... it reminded him of an old fairytale he'd read, a tale of a vicious monster seducing his prey-to-be to his death.

He didn't normally believe in fairytales, but with Bayern, monsters  _\- success -_ weren't so much of a fairytale. It was a given, he told her.

“Thank you,” the Bavarian smiled, running to join the team for the last ‘Pep’ talk _,_  “wish us luck!”

The Westfalen club flashed her a grin in return.  _You won't need it._

* * *

The two friends watched from the sidelines, a few steps beyond the Catalan trainer, as Philipp Lahm stepped to the penalty box.

“Please score, Philipp, please, please, _please..."_ Bayern chanted in a hushed voice, fingers tightening around Bochum’s wrist, heightening his nerves. Her palm was so, so sweaty...

Alas, luck wasn't with the Star of the South, for somehow the captain slipped. The ball sailed away, higher than Jürgen Klopp’s expectations.

Through the bond in their souls, the Ruhr club could feel the shock and anger in every Bayern fan, and the need to pray for Gündogan to slip as well, but the sensation was cut off by a firm, unyielding voice.

“We can do this,” the reigning champion said, her gaze fixated on the Dortmund midfielder, _"please don't score please don't score please don't score-"_

“GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAL!”

The yellow-clad crowd erupted into wild cheers, but Bayern tuned them out.

"Four chances left," she muttered, her eyes on the prize, “c'mon, Xabi."

 

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Post-edit notes: Bayern and Bochum's fan friendship isn't like it once was, and with the former's international fame, comes the inevitably growing one-sidedness in their then-close relationship...)


	19. To React in a Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few (cracky) impressions of the year 2015, from both men and women's leagues... enjoy!  
> (Featuring: VfB Stuttgart, Karlsruher SC, VfB II, Frauen-Effzeh, Frauen-KSC, RB Leipzig, Dynamo Dresden, and FC Ingolstadt 04!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited 17.11.16)

**A New Force Awakens**

RB Leipzig emerged out of the theater with tears in his eyes, ignoring Ingolstadt’s whines. He couldn’t care less that the older club had to take many small steps to keep up with just one of his ground-eating strides, he just needed to come to terms with the fact that neither Mara Jade, Ben Skywalker, the Solos, Xizor, Thrawn, nor secret agent Wrenga Jixton was canon now. Fuck, why did Jar Jar Abrams had to do this? Yeah, it was far better than tacky Phantom Menace, maybe some fans saw it as an apology and all, but it was far from perfect. Heck, it was a fucking ripoff of the original Star Wars, even if Bandwagon Inge didn’t know that! Just because it has better CGI… and is more ‘progressive’…  _bullshit_.

Fuck, he needed to meditate or something on this change. He wasn’t going to throw an emo fit like that stupid, even-Bayern-is-more-intimidating Kylo Ren, though. He wasn’t fucking ready!

It was ironic for a club like _Die roten Bullen_ to think about this kind of thing as he stormed out of the movie theater , but damn Lucasfilm – or Disney – to just disappoint a whole group of fans just to milk the cash cow! Not to mention the upcoming Han Solo film, or Rogue One, whatever it was…

CRASH!!!

Leipzig collided with a fellow mall-goer, sending his unfinished popcorn flying in the air, raining over the three of them (panicked, little Inge had run to RB’s aid, but he was just plain useless.)

Cringing, the two adults stood up at the same time, RB pulling the Bavarian up as he did. “Sorry, Sir–“

When they heard each other’s voice, they broke off in unison–

“Dynamo?”

_“Soda?!”_

“What are you doing here?!”

Dynamo's red eyes and Leipzig's blue ones bore into each other, leaving poor Ingolstadt alone with his BB-8 plushie.

“Watching Star Wars,” spat the Dresden club.

“What?!” the _Retortenverein_ roared, “we couldn’t have been on the same theater, could we?!”

Dynamo folded his hands over his chest. “Show me your ticket.”

RB handed the other club his Premier Pass with a scoff, knowing that he couldn’t afford it. “Inge’s dad paid for it.” The lie rolled easily from his tongue, and he paid his fellow ‘plastic club’ no heed.

The blond-and-black-haired club, unfortunately, saw through it, what with the condescending scowl contorting his angular features, or maybe it was his words, “Whatever you say, you’re still a money club with no fucking tradition, so cut the crap, Soda.”

“And whatever you say, you’re still a third division club who’ll probably go bankrupt in a few years,” Leipzig retorted, “now give me your ticket.”

“No need,” Dresden said gruffly, returning the ticket as hastily as he could, as if it was deadly radioactive poison that could turn him into goo, “like a true fan, I go for the actual movie, not for the massaging chairs and whatever posh shit you two bandwagons eat inside.”

“I’m not a bandwagon!” Ingolstadt whined.

The club with the record-breaking banner not-so-playfully smacked Germany’s tiniest club in the head. “Shut up.”

“Hey – you can’t do that, I’ll tell my Papa!” the crybaby continued, “and you can never, ever bully us again!”

While the two clubs went on with the useless banter, RB Leipzig focused into himself, calming his mind – the Light Side of the Force called to him, whispering calming tones as he breathed in… and out. And in… and out. He shouldn’t be so angry… but stars, a whole fucking expanded universe! From semi-canon references with compelling stories, memorable characters, and world-shattering tech, was now mere… fanfictions. Those mouse-controlled bastards may have called it ‘Legends’, but…

SLAP!

“Oi!  _Red Bull!”_

He blinked, barely registering the pain at first, but a second later, his nerves decided to be jerks and made him rub it uselessly.

SGD shot him an even dirtier look.. “What the  _fuck_  are you high on?”

“What?”

“You were fucking  _standing in front of a furniture store with your eyes closed_ ,” the Dresdener continued, “what else would you call that, huh?”

“Oh I know!” Inge piped up from under the grown ups’ armpits, “he’s meditating! With the Force!”

Dynamo started laughing. “Are you freaking kidding me?!”

“Well… I…” Leipzig paused, fighting his blush in vain, “I was just thinking about the EU.”

Silence.

The 2009-born club swallowed his pride – maybe the violent _Traditionsverein_ could be civil in this common ground. “It’s just a shame,” he continued, “that Episode VII throws away the effort of tens, maybe  _hundreds_  of EU writers… just like that!”

The older Saxony club ‘hmm’ed mock-thoughtfully. “I second that,” he replied, “but you know… it reminds me of your situation, Soda.”

“How?” Leipzig wondered aloud.

“Imagine SSV Markranstädt as the EU,” Dynamo said in a low, dramatic voice as they walked to a nearby restaurant on the pint-sized Bundesligist’s insistence, “the fruit of thirty years of labor with thousands of fans, fanfics, and merchandise.”

RB let out a growl, knowing full well where this conversation was going.

“And you, the money bastard who bought his license and replaced him, erasing years of tradition, is The Force Awakens,” the 3. Liga club paused, gauging Soda’s reaction, “so it’s fucking ironic that you hate the new, glamorous Star Wars while being Mateshit’s new, glamorous rent boy.”

Ingolstadt stared at the two eastern German personifications, from Red Bull’s clenched fists to his glowering eyes to Dynamo's casual steps and eye-to-eye smirk, and shuddered.

_It can’t be the Dark Side, can it?_

* * *

**Social Media Shenanigans**

1\. FC Köln - its women’s team, to be exact, logged into her account, giddy to share (the photo of) her first win in what seemed like ages. Sure, it was ‘only’ DFB-Pokal, but a win was a win, right? Especially against the Baden Cup winners!

_(photo)_

_MsEffzeh_ _SIEG IN KARLSRUHE! 4:1, baby! - with @karli_ksc :3_

_#sieg #victory #dfbcup #dfbpokal #football #fußball #soccer #koe #effzeh #ksc #happy_

 

Not a minute later, the Rhine club received notifications from clubs she barely knew:

 

_GeissbockVIII_ _, StuttgarterSnarker and VfB_jungundwild liked your photo._

_StuttgarterSnarker_ _and Karlsruh_94 commented on your photo._

Out of curiosity, she decided to check them out.

 

_StuttgarterSnarker_ _Congratulations, kid! >:)_

_Karlsruh_94_ _@StuttgarterSnarker @MsEffzeh she’s an oberligist, big deal_

_StuttgarterSnarker_ _@Karlsruh_94 Someone’s a sore loser, isn’t he? @MsEffzeh Remind me to treat you sometime, eh?_

Köln giggled like a lovestruck teenager.

 

_MsEffzeh_ _@GeissbockVIII ayyyyyyy~ @StuttgarterSnarker awww, thanks!! <3 @Karlsruh_94 a win is a win :p_

After replying to the boys’ comments, she switched tabs to DFB’s website to watch the highlights of her game… Karlsruhe’s _Mädels_ played well, but they were surely no match for hers!

Just when the second goal touched the southern German club’s net, she got a new notification. If it was possible, her face lit up even more. _I hope it’s Stuttgart,_ she thought, mouth watering at the prospect of being treated to delicious food, or even better, a new costume for _Alaaf!_

_Click!_

_karli_ksc_ _commented on your photo._

“Aww, it’s not Stuttgart,” she lamented. But… was the sister going to be as butthurt as her brother? Better click the link, then.

 

_karli_ksc_ _@Karlsruh_94 COULD YOU PLEASE STOP EMBARRASSING ME FOR ONCE_

The Cologne-born woman doubled over in laughter. This banter _might_ just be the cherry on top of the whipped cream that was her victory!

 

_Karlsruh_94_ _@karli_ksc but he’s bullying you! and i’m your big brother, i should protect you_

_StuttgarterSnarker_ _@Karlsruh_94 @karli_ksc Awww, the joys of having a baby sister!_

_Karlsruh_94_ _@StuttgarterSnarker shut the fuck up, asshole_

_karli_ksc_ _@Karlsruh_94 @StuttgarterSnarker I DON'T NEED TO BE CODDLED OK I’M NOT A BABY_

_StuttgarterSnarker_ _Ah, I wish I had a sister… (sigh emoticon)_

_StuttgarterSnarker_ _@VfB_jungundwild No offense, little bro._

_VfB_jungundwild_ _@StuttgarterSnarker :( :( :(_

_Karlsruh_94_ _@StuttgarterSnarker she’d disown you (middle finger emoticon)_

_karli_ksc_ _@Karlsruh_94 I’M DISOWNING YOU_

_StuttgarterSnarker_ _@karli_ksc Sweet!_

Wait, scratch that, Köln grinned, leaning back further on her bed, it _definitely_ was.

* * *

**One Thing For Sure**

“Miss Hertha, how would you explain your third place finish in this  _Hinrunde_?”

Hertha Berlin flashed the reporter a warm smile, as she was wont to do. “There are a lot of factors at play, which will be explained further by the coach,” she intoned, “but one thing’s for sure,” she exchanged a glance with the Hungarian sitting beside her, “Dardai is the best Pal we’ve had in years.”

**(End Hinrunde)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EU: Expanded Universe  
> And yes, I know RB only 'replaced' SSV for one season, but Dresden doesn't bother with his research :p
> 
> ~
> 
> Sorry for the short, cracky update. I have so many ideas but no time to write them… not to mention that they're coming for me. And my internet access. So... see you next year with improved chapters? (I still resent myself with the inconsistency of some clubs' persona, ugh... I hope I can edit them pronto.)
> 
> Have a great 2016!  
> Reg


	20. Kopfstandmethode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hear, hear! Hannover 96 is on top of the table! Who the fuck is Bayern München? (Warning: kinda NSFW, low quality - will be edited later!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a gift from me, folks! A new chapter featuring clubs you probably don't care about! *cries*
> 
> (Edited 17.11.16)

[@Hannover96 - (image)](https://twitter.com/Hannover96/status/691566295633018881)

 

"Sooooo, according to this table, Bauern and Dortmund will go down?" asked Hamburger SV from under Hannover 96's blanket, where he was fucking their boyfriend, Arminia Bielefeld (or, in other words, adding unnecessary laundry.)

"Of course," Hannover sighed, turning up the volume on his everlasting headphones to block out the Zweitligist's moans (and his own pessimism), "just imagine how amazing it would be! Frankfurt in Europe... that's gotta have the best atmosphere."  _And I'll be Bundesliga champions for the first time... if the table were true._

"Yeah, good for you," Hamburg said perfunctorily, as he was quite literally tongue-tied with Arminia, pressed together inside the green-and-black covers, "but that green..." a grunt, which Hannover couldn't hear over the calming melody of _Alte Liebe_ , "...Bremen..." the Red Shorts was thrusting himself into Bielefeld now, and there was the sound of satisfaction- "...goblin's gonna finish above me... and I can't _fucking_ have that!"

The Lower Saxony club couldn't help but smile at Hamburg's silly nickname for his derby rival, even if it was just a little. "Sure, the green goblin would finish above you, but you'd finish above the Pills... isn't that cool with you?"

"Not enough," the Bundesliga dinosaur groaned, peeking out of the covers, "that plastic asshat deserves to be relegated!"

When Arminia supplied a derisive remark to support his lover, Hannover found himself laughing along from his beanie couch. _Thank the football gods for these dorks,_ he thought, turning down the music (and his pessimism, finally) in favor of listening to anti-Leverkusen sentiments his best friends made, because really, what could he do without them?

 

fin


	21. Interlude: Oh My Petersen!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the #UnrealisticBuLiPro: SC Freiburg doesn’t moan “Oh my God!” when she fucks - it’s always “Oh my Petersen!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited 17.11.16)

“This is _exactly_ why you’re single,” said Karlsruher SC, Freiburg’s ever-supportive cousin, right after he received a complaint from one of her exes (the black-and-yellow one, to be exact), “or are you really?”

The Breisgauer’s face flushed at the implications of his question. “I’m not dating my own players, even if he's a _Fußballgott_ ,” she mumbled, averting her gaze as to avoid Karlsruhe’s totally judging look, “that would be pedophilia.”

Silently, Karlsruhe watched the younger club fidget in discomfort, amused by her utter inability to lie through a freaking _webcam_.

And true to her character, she groaned not a minute later: “Okay, fine, Peddo and I might have accidentally stood under a mistletoe last Christmas, but can we _not_ talk about that?"

“Sure,” he replied, a twinkle in his blue eyes, “whatever you want, Freiburg.”

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what possessed me to write this. Let me apologize (again) for neglecting interesting footballing events in favor of writing cracky, borderline-RPF chapters... I kinda hope you enjoyed it, though.
> 
> P.S.:  
> To Mr. Nils Petersen, if you ever see this, I have no intention to offend or degrade you. (Heck, you're one of my favorite players, and I'd LOVE to see you and SCF play in the Bundesliga again!) Besides, there are much worse RPFs about other players out there... seriously, you're fucking lucky, Fußballgott. TRUST ME ON THIS.
> 
> P.P.S.: If you want to know where the name 'Peddo' came from, just go to Petersen's FB page. :p


	22. Art: Ois Guade, Die Roten!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a birthday gift for the best club in Germany, FC Bayern München.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I haven't got the time to write a new chapter, bur I hope you don't mind a pic of 1900 and 2016 Bayern <3  
> Note: 'Ois Guade' is Bavarian for 'Alles Gute'.

_"I'll make you proud, Bayern. I promise."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more thing: I gave "Birth" (Chapter 10) a radical makeover! Check it out, bitte?


	23. Art: It's Derby Day!

Drawn on MS Paint 2003, background made with Photoshop CS3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who did you root for on the mother of all derbies, Dortmund or Schalke? Or if you're watching other derbies, were you happy that Bayern and Leverkusen won (and Lautern and Karlsruhe drew)? Tell me in the comments! :D


	24. Europhoria (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For eruditemonk. I’m really sorry for the late gift! I know you asked for a oneshot, but I hope this chapter doesn’t disappoint…

Munich, April 15, 2016

 

VfL Bochum took unsure steps before the door of his best friend’s apartment, wondering if he really should come here. With only a small gift box in his hands, what was he gonna do? Watch her open it and then go home? He didn’t even know what to say! ‘Congratulations for making it into the semis’ didn’t feel enough…

Pocketing the gift on his jacket, Bochum started to pace around the small corridor, mulling over his word choices. “Congrats, Bayern!” he tested in a hushed voice, “I’m so proud of you!” He envisaged his friend beaming before him, muscular hands reaching out for a hug, so he looked up to the imaginary Bayern and hugged her back. “Thank you, Bochum,” he replied in a different voice – an impression of Bayern’s, “Thank you so-“

“Oi, Bochum! What the heck are you doing?”

Surprised, Bochum promptly lost his balance and fell face-first onto the linoleum floor. While Bochum tried to stand up, the caller started cackling madly, earning him a deadly look from the Ruhr-born man.

“None of your business, Lautern,” he snapped, wiping the blood off his nose with his sleeve, “What are _you_ doing here?”

The uninvited guest, 1. FC Kaiserslautern, shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, Bochum,” he cooed mockingly, “can’t you see I’m dressed to impress?” He swirled to give the shorter club a full look of his tight ‘Betze’ V-neck, gray jeans, and flaming red Supra shoes, “I’m picking up my girlfriend for lunch.”

“Your girlfriend?” Bochum asked, “you mean Sechzig?”

“Well, duh!” the Red Devils cried, throwing his hands up in the air, “Stuttgart doesn’t live in Munich! Besides, he’s my _boy_ friend. He’s waiting in his car downstairs, by the way.”

Bochum wondered what Lautern had bribed Stuttgart with to make him agree to a threesome.

“And you, stop avoiding my question. What’re you doing here?” Lautern continued, “Picking up your own girlfriend?”

The thought of Bayern being his… his _girlfriend_ , of all things!, made Bochum blush all over again. “Hell no!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” Lautern hooted. “Dude, everyone knows you have the biggest crush on her since forever! Why not ask her out, now that you’re here?”

“Maybe because I can hear you from behind my door,” the voice of Bayern München interrupted. As expected, Kaiserslautern gasped dramatically, hands on his cheeks, but all blood drained from Bochum’s face, his eyes widening so much he looked like a zombie.

“B-Bayern,” Bochum stuttered after a few awkward seconds, Bayern’s icy glare turning his feet into jelly as he reached for his pocket, “I-I have s-s-something for you…”

He handed the Bavarian his gift with shuddering hands. “Open it,”

She unwrapped it wordlessly, quickly. Bochum watched her impassive face turn _even more_ rigid. _Crap…_

“Bochum,” Bayern intoned, in the silky tone of voice she normally reserved for her enemies, “are you kidding me?”

“Uh…” Bochum scratched his blond hair, cringing at the birthday card pasted on the box’s lid as well, “Sorry, I didn’t have the chance to visit you in February…” He took a deep breath, trying to gather a semblance of dignity. “But-but please open the box too!”

“Fine,” she sighed.

Without reading the birthday card, she did what Bochum had said…

…and found something she’d never thought she would get, much less from her on-off friend.

In other words: She found a fucking _ring._

She was so transfixed with the gift that she barely heard Lautern cheer “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”

“Oh my god, who’s proposing Bayern?!” another voice shrieked, followed by the footsteps and squeals from many clubs.

“Bochum!” Kaiserslautern shouted in reply. “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”

His chanting was soon joined in by the newcomers, and Bochum felt dizzy, he couldn’t look at anyone anymore especially Bayern, oh dear _Fussballgott_ , could he just disappear? He couldn’t take this, he couldn’t take the rage in his love’s eyes, couldn’t take the jeering, couldn’t take the clapping anymore-

_“WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP?!”_

Everyone fell silent.

“No one’s proposing me,” Bayern said coldly, her blue eyes piercing the crowd, “Bochum was just congratulating me for making it to the semis… which all of you _failed_.”

“Congratulating you?” demanded Wolfsburg, who was one of the failed, “but he gave you a ring!”

Bayern gave them the finger. “Look.”

Everyone craned their necks to get a closer look at the shiny gift on the CL semifinalist’s middle finger, and there it was.

The mount wasn’t pearl or diamond or anything common for an engagement ring, but a _Henkelpott_ -shaped silver mount with a ‘6’ engraved on it.

“That’s right,” the _Rekordmeister_ growled, “now get into the house. Sechzig has beer.”

With various noises of annoyance, the guests filed into Bayern’s apartment, except Bochum, who stayed in front of said apartment’s owner, who exited her room and closed the door behind her.

 _Finally, some privacy!_ “You… you defended me,” Bochum said, sweating hands clenching and unclenching inside his trousers’ pockets.

Bayern smiled slightly. “Of course,”

“But… how’d you know?”

“Bochum, my friend,” she chuckled, “You came right after I won against Benfica. What else would you come for, if not to congratulate me?”

“You arrogant bastard,” Bochum laughed, fondness breaking through his nerves, “everything has to be about you, doesn’t it?”

“Of course,” his best friend scoffed in mock-haughtiness, puffing her chest, “I’m Germany’s biggest club, aren't I?”

“That you are, o Star of the South," Bochum beamed, "I’m so proud of you!"

When Bayern hugged him in response, he became the happiest man in the world.

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henkelpott: German for the UCL trophy.
> 
> ~
> 
> Hello!
> 
> Nice to see you again, my dear readers <3 Once again, I apologize for the long wait. Exams and personal problems stole me away from the bliss of writing... also, sorry if you expected the actual European euphoria from the big clubs, but the part where the Top 7 (ish) insult each other while drinking Weißbier doesn't really fit the tone of this chapter. But have no fear, readers dear, they'll grace your favorite (hopefully) gijinka story in Part 2, so stay tuned! It will probably be published after the UCL final, though. . Yay university admission tests! *cries*
> 
> Anyway, let's get to the reason I wrote this XXL, uncut end note in the first place...
> 
> What started as random doodles of Bayern, Dortmund, and Braunschweig on a school notebook has reached a very important milestone: 31,000 words, 25 chapters (not counting the comics, the Tumblr oneshots and the Star Wars AU), and 830 views! Damn, I never thought I'd ever see that kind of stats :') I thought this would just be another story I'd never finish, like those weird fics I'd made years ago, but with your invaluable support, I managed to write the longest football gijinka story on the internet. That is quite the reason to be proud, is it not? Not just for me, the writer, but also for you, the readers and the (maybe) fans! :D
> 
> Seriously, I wouldn't have gotten this far without you guys, so let me rattle off the acknowledgements...
> 
> Straighttothepoint, thank you for being my first reviewer and drawing the first Bundeslihaha fanarts!
> 
> Jenny, thank you for your amazing ideas and kindness. You were one of my first online friends and you taught me so much... not just about football (particularly Bayer Leverkusen), but also about life. I wish you could've stayed longer... there are so many things I want to say to you.
> 
> Lex, the rare gem that is a Leverkusen fan, thanks a bunch for being such an amazing little shit uwu. Good luck in uni! \\(òwó)9
> 
> Eruditemonk, thank you for the great Tumblr correspondence! I'll be sure to give you more Revierderby and Ingolstadt fun. ;)
> 
> Fran, my bro, you're the best. You deserve more than just a 'thank you' in this end notes... you deserve the world.
> 
> To my lovely sister, who doesn't give a fuck about football but is wiling to read this and brainstorm with me anyway: you're awesome :*
> 
> Dear Aushim Gupta, I'm surprised a Barça fan like you would genuinely like Bundeslihaha, but I won't complain ;) Thank you for being such great company.
> 
> FrayTurner, K-Town, Talicor, Vere, SyriaFranz, l15biokey, and guests, I'm glad you enjoyed my story so much you commented, gave kudos, and bookmarked... Vielen Dank!
> 
> And the rest of you, sorry I can't mention your names one by one (not that I know them), thanks a million! I wish you the very best in life <3 If I could, I'd make a monument for you, but unfortunately, I'm just a student with no money, so... accept this virtual hug!
> 
> *hug*
> 
> I hope you like it as much as Bochum did Bayern's <3
> 
> As always, thanks for reading... and see you next chapter!
> 
> mit echten Liebe,  
> Reg


	25. the day we went down in flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this Wayback Wednesday (y'knooow, like Throwback Tuesday and Flashback Friday?), relive the aftermath of the 2007 Ligapokal incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expanded on a random idea. I hope you like it :) It happened 9 years ago, so I'm not sorry if you come at me with pitchforks demanding a spoiler alert.

Nuremberg, July 24, 2007

DFB-Ligapokal Semifinals

 

“…I told you I’m sorry! I didn’t know they’d do-“

Schalke 04's hand, the hand that held her close while they made love, the hand that so encouragingly squeezed hers before the Pokal final, the hand that had cared for her, hit her squarely-

And 1. FC Nürnberg crashed onto the floor, a pair of blue eyes boring into her dark ones.

“Why, Nürnberg?” Schalke’s once-friendly voice was threatening as she scrambled to get up, shifting away from her boyfriend's ground-eating steps. “Why didn’t you _stop_ them?!”

With heaving breaths, Nürnberg stood on her feet, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I can’t control my fans, Schalke!"

_(She never cries. She won't now, but the saddest thing about betrayal is that it always comes from those closest to your heart.)_

“Oh, can't you?" the Ruhr club roared, his face so close to hers that their noses almost touched. “You should have fucking _known_ ," he pointed an accusing finger at her, "what those _assholes_ you call 'fans' would sing!”

“'You should have known’?” she retorted, pushing him away, “I’m not an ultra, _Scheiße!_ And if I were, how the fuck am I supposed to stop them?! There were hundreds, maybe _thousands_ of them and I’m _just one person!"_

Silence.

Schalke opened his mouth to respond, to just get rid of those godforsaken chants in his mind, but... she'd called him 'Scheiße' . For the first time in his life, his lover called him by the name used by his haters.

_(It's only just, a side of him would say. Upon Nürnberg's fans' insult, his fans immediately retaliated with a scathing chant of their own...._

_It's only just, isn't it?_

_Isn't it?)_

Meanwhile, Nürnberg started laughing. The mocking sound mingled with tears of hysteria, resulting in a chilling shadow of what her laugh should be. "Aww, little Scheiße is sad because his girlfriend called him shit,"

He pursed his lips, clenching his fists to numb the sharp pain in his chest, _(the pain of having to listen to that mockery of her laugh instead of the sweetness it once was,)_

"Oh, or have you _conviently forgotten_?!" she snapped, "you're not innocent either, _Scheiße_!"

She then moved closer to him, using his shoulder as an armrest. _"Ihr seid scheiße wie der BVB!"_ she singsonged, her lips beside his ear, _(he remembers all the time those full, pink lips would kiss his, including this morning, the kiss neither of them knew would be their last,)_ "Oh, _Nürnberg ist scheiße wie der BVB!"_ Another laugh, before she glared at him with the intensity of her fans on today's match, an intensity her players had failed to match. "That's not much better than _ihr werdet nie deutscher Meister, isn't it?"_

_(Isn't it?)_

"No," he said quietly, "we're even."

_(But even justice can't stop heartburn.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation:
> 
> FC Schalke 04 and 1. FC Nürnberg's fan friendship started in the early 80's. There are many stories about how it all began, but you can read one in English here: http://www.fcn.de/en/fans/schalke-04/ and one in German here: http://www.schalke04.de/de/fans/tausend-freunde/schalke-und-der-fcn/page/270--270--.html.
> 
> Unlike most other fan friendships, which died down at the turn of the new millenium, Schalke and Nürnberg stayed together through every up and down. Even now, most Royal Blues fans still support Der Club on important matches, be it on the stands or on social media (and vice versa.)
> 
> But that doesn't mean the fans (lovers, in this story :p) never had fights... In 2007, on the semifinal of (now defunct) DFL-Ligapokal (League Cup), Nürnberg's younger ultras chanted "Ihr werdet nie deutscher Meister!" ("You'll never be German champions!"), which was quickly replied by the Schalkers: "Ihr seid scheiße wie der BVB!" (I think you don't need translations for this one :p)
> 
> Things changed since then, but amazingly, they don't turn into enemies like everyone thought, so yeah, it's a great reason to make SchaNü our OTP! *gets shot*
> 
> See you soon!  
> Reg


	26. Das Ende eines Märchens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another throwback chapter, this time to the 2015/16 season: When Jürgen Klopp left Borussia Dortmund, he didn't just leave an organization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A consolation of sorts after my long, long hiatus. Enjoy the very late 'flash reaction'!
> 
> (Edited 5.9.16)

 

> _Jürgen Klopp Ends Sabbatical and Moves to Liverpool FC!_

Borussia Dortmund sat in silence, ignoring the blissful scent of coffee billowing from the bright yellow mug in his hand. His dark eyes stared unseeingly at the old (but somehow still hot) news, not quite stormy, but there was something there - like rain clouds, potent and depressing and- _and-_

He felt nostalgia filling his mind-  _Oh god, how could he,_ he thought, fist clenching tighter around the handle of his mug,  _he gave me a fairytale! A fucking legacy, dammit! How could he do this to me?!_

Common sense told Borussia the loss had been merely disappointing instead of tragic, that it hadn't been that much a blow in the great scheme of things, but... but his chest tightened at the sight of his legendary coach, his best friend, his _father in all but blood_ celebrating Liverpool's goal. And like salt on a gaping wound, the Reds' fans were chanting Kloppo's name like he'd used to! _Fuck you, Liverpool,_ he let out a mental cry, _that kind of celebration belongs in the Yellow Wall, not Anfield!_

Without realizing it, tears had cascaded down his pale cheeks.

"Kloppo..." he mumbled, putting down his mug in favor of hugging himself, rocking back-and-forth in his sea of pillows to numb the pain, "Kloppo, please come back..."

He sunk lower into the soft mattress of his bed, his large frame racking with sobs. If only memories of winning the league hadn't hurt this much... If only Kloppo had stayed. They could have won more titles, more hearts....

 _But even fairytales have to end somewhere,_ no one said. _Right, Borussia?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Europhoria will come soon, I think. Most likely in two chapters. Sorry orz
> 
> Anyway, here's the disclaimer that never gets old: I'm no BVB fan, writing this was a challenge, yada yada yada... fine, to be frank, I'd love to know what you think. Self-deprecation rarely has positive effects, but concrit definitely does! ;)
> 
> See you in the next chappie, and have an Eid Mubarak!  
> freibulous


	27. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario Götze is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I hope the news haven't become stale for you guys, and that the chappie is well-written, because I wrote this on nitro! Hopefully though, I've proofread this enough.
> 
> This chapter's a flash-reaction of sorts, not unlike "Anywhere the Wind Blows", where Armin Veh resigned from his position as Stuttgart's coach - the only difference is that this one stars our favorite bumblebee and a certain World Cup winner ;)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> (And please pardon some of the, uh, creative liberties I've taken.)
> 
> (Edited 17.11.16)

Dortmund, July 21, 2016

 

  
Borussia Dortmund could imagine a few ways to spend his day, but he certainly never imagined spending it on the cafeteria of his training complex with Bayern freaking München instead of watching the most shocking press conference ever.

No wonder she'd brought him drinks.

"It's complimentary," the Bavarian winked as she strode through the door, "to celebrate Mario's homecoming."

He hesitantly took the can out of her hand to examine it... Man, this was his favorite! How did she know? But suspicion slowly kicked in, almost like how it did whenever Scheiße 04 wasn't out to kill him outright. "Why?"

"Rummenigge," she replied simply.

Borussia frowned. Aki's - and by extension, his - relationship with the Buyern chairman was the far from good-enough-to-get-free-drinks. "I'm not dumb," he snapped, slamming the can onto the table, "do you think I'll just accept this?!"

His rival raised a red eyebrow, haughty as ever. "Why not? It's not poisoned."

"I wouldn't put it past you," he shook his head with a scowl, his imagination supplying a complimentary picture of his death-by-poison, "bitch." he added as an afterthought.

"Oh, come on," the older club chuckled, "this drink can help you find better insults for me! Being called 'bitch' gets boring over time, you know."

 _Die Schwarzgelben_  huffed. He hated giving the arrogant bitch the satisfaction of doing what she wanted (like everyone else did), but that beer... Oh, screw it! Traitors don't turn back to the light side very often, do they? "Fine," he grumbled, snatching the drink.

He was taking a gulp when she smirked at him, saying "good boy!", causing him to choke on his beer and he coughed and snorted, hoping none of it would reach his lungs... fuck, fuck, _fuck._

"Slow down, Dortmund," the redheaded personification cackled, "don't you want to stay alive to burn your 'Judas' T-shirts?"

"Shut up!"

Her evil laugh only grew louder. That _witch!_  It didn't last long though. Thank the Fußballgott! He hated her mocking laugh and her stupid voice so damn much... "I was told Watzke didn't tell you," she stated, "So I figured that a drink would help you swallow the news."

"I won't thank you, if that's what you're asking!" he cried-slash-coughed.

"Don't worry, I don't need your thanks," she replied casually, "I just need you to stop playing the victim from now on."

He spat his drink at that. "How dare you!" he growled, rising from his chair, oh, he was so ready to throttle that arrogant piece of shit! "How dare you say that when you keep poaching my players?!" he pointed an accusing finger at her, "And don't say Mats chose you like Robert did, because he fucking didn't!"

She rolled her eyes. "But you got Rode, did you not? And have I mentioned that I returned your _beloved_ Super Mario?"

"That doesn't turn back time," he shot back.

"True," Die Roten nodded in agreement, "but that should stop you from whining like Ingolstadt. Right?"

He took a deep, deep breath. "Right," he said through gritted teeth, fists clenching at his sides... _calm down, Borussia,_ he told himself, _don't give your club bad PR on a day like this. Calm down._

"That's the spirit," she sneered, "now sit down and enjoy your drink until someone picks us up."

* * *

 Half an hour after that, someone (his coach, to be exact) did pick Borussia up (and was gonna take him home!), much to his utter joy - like, they hadn't said a word to each other after he finished his drink... Not that he wanted to talk to her if she tried to start a convo, but still!

"Coach," he said on the way, "why did you let Bauern into the cafeteria?"

Thomas Tuchel turned to face him. "Why do you ask?"

The Dortmunder pouted. "Because!" he whined, "She's an asshole!"

"Now, now," the trainer replied calmly, "what did Bayern do?"

"Ugh," he groaned, "she told me to stop 'playing the victim'. Who the hell does she think she is?"

Tuchel didn't look surprised at his words. "She has a point," he muttered.

"Oh come on!" Borussia cried, throwing his hands into the air, "why is everyone on her side?!"

The two would round a corner before Tuchel responded. "It's not like that, Borussia," he said _(did he sound a bit exasperated? What the fuck?)_ , "it's just, maybe you should look past your hatred of her and be grateful that Mario's back."

Borussia said nothing as they neared the train station. Well, true, he was really, really happy... but coming back wouldn't just undo his betrayal, right?! He freaking moved to his biggest competitor under his nose, dammit!

"Here," Tuchel broke the silence as he handed the personification his cellphone, who shot him a questioning look. "The recording of today's press conference," he answered.

Wordlessly, Borussia hit 'play'.

 _"Personally, I'm absolutely delighted that Mario has chosen to come back to Borussia Dortmund. Ever since his departure in 2013, I've always hoped that he would return to the club one day,"_ Aki began.

Then it was his sporting director, Michael Zorc, _"Mario is Dortmund born and bred, one of the best creative midfielders in Europe and still only 24 years old._

_"He had several transfer options on the table and he consciously chose a path that would certainly not be an easy one, a return to his hometown club."_

Borussia almost teared up when the camera moved to his former, no, current player.

 _"When I completed the switch from BVB to FC Bayern in 2013, it was a conscious decision and one that I do not wish to hide from today,"_ the midfielder said, immediately followed by an onslaught of unpleasant memories in his mind... _no, Borussia,_ he bit his lips, blinking back tears, _don't cry..._

 _"Three years later,"_ Mario, his Mario and not hers, continued, _"and now at 24 years of age, I am able to see the decision I made back then differently. I can understand the fact that many fans were unable to understand my decision. Nowadays I wouldn't make the same choice again!"_

He felt laughter bubbling in his chest and let it out, _oh god, yes, Mario,_ he thought, tears of joy running down his cheeks, _never, ever do that again!_

_"If I am now to return to my hometown club, then I want to try to win everyone over – especially those who do not welcome me back with open arms – with my performances. My objective is to get back to playing my best football."_

He nodded vigorously at that. _Yes, Mario, yes! And we will kick Buyern's ass. Scheiße's ass. And win the league, like we did in 2011 and 2012..._

_"For all of us: the club and the BVB fans."_

With a last, loud sniff, Borussia stopped the video. "Thank you," he beamed, returning Tuchel's phone with one hand, wiping his tears with the other.

His coach smiled back. "Anytime, Borussia. Anytime."

  
fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I think this transfer is for the best. Both parties are happy - Götze can use his talents where he's appreciated, and Bayern gets money (sure, there's a loss, but it's better than letting him transfer for free, right?) What do you think? Let me know in the comments! :D
> 
> Until next time,  
> freibulous
> 
> (Quotes taken from bvb.de, Dortmund's official website.)


	28. Art: Allet Jute, Alte Dame!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy 124th birthday, Hertha BSC! Best of luck in the Bundesliga and Europa League! ;D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the compilation! (if you're using a phone, it's better to rotate your screen to landscape.)

This was actually drawn last year (thus the weird drawing and coloring style), but i edited it a little bit. i don't have time to draw a new one... thanks, uni. *sigh* i hope you like it nonetheless!

Hertha x Karlsruhe aesthetics <3 I really love their fan friendship! Not many of them survive until now... these two are really admirable.

My second most recent drawing of Die Blau-Weißen :) the club's official Instagram reposted this, believe it or not! xD


	29. Art: Happy Birthday, Gladbach!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 116 years ago today, a certain Rhine club was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's... an old drawing (you can probably figure that out because I still went by Lewadda back then.) Time sure went fast..


	30. [2016/17] Contrast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wait is over; the best league in the world is back!
> 
> Newly-promoted SC Freiburg and RB Leipzig are as different as day and night, and so are their welcoming parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon where Bayern is told to rent a beach for all personifications because she needs good PR, so here it is (though the Rekordmeister doesn't have a major role in this chapter). Enjoy :)
> 
> (Edited 14.11.16)

Sport-Club Freiburg strolls along the beach with a smile, a tune complementing the spring in her steps,

_"Wir sind wieder erste Liga, und es wird noch weitergeh'n..."_

She waves to greet every club she passed by, from Bayern to Mainz to Paderborn, her smile widening with every wave back.

_"Und wir singen's immer wieder bis wir dann ganz oben steh'n..."_

Freiburg continues humming the fan song as she lays her belongings on the sand, her bare skin caressed by the summer sun. While she's singing the next verse, a large pair of hands lift her up. She can't register who they belong to, but they smell nice, like sweat and grass and victory...

The Badenian shrieks in joy as her fellow Bundesliga clubs throw her into the air, like she and her team did her coach matchdays ago, and she revels in the feeling of flight; its pure ecstasy.  _It's so good to be back!_

* * *

RasenBallsport Leipzig does not stroll.

He takes ground-eating strides from the parking lot to the beach, shooting every club who jeered at him a poisonous look.

He doesn't stop when Ingolstadt ran to match his steps, poking him everywhere humanly possible, and doesn't stop when Dynamo Dresden 'accidentally' throws a volleyball into his face.

He does stop when the Aufsteiger headbutts him with his hideous yellow mohawk, though.

"Hello, plastic boys," Dresden greets snidely, followed by a mocking curtsy, "have you seen my volleyball?"

Leipzig opens his mouth, a witty retort on the tip of his tongue, when Ingolstadt, that spoiled little shit, cuts in. "You just threw it at us!"

"Shut up, kid, am I talking to you?" Dresden spits.

"Well, I was just saying!" the Bavarian cries indignantly, before looking around. "There," he points somewhere at his right, "St. Pauli's getting it for you."

The eastern German club turns to the direction of Ingolstadt's finger, easily spotting St. Pauli's striking pink hair. "Oi, over here!" he shouts, waving his hands.

"Hey, Dynamo," Leipzig pipes up, crossing his arms over his bare chest, "are we supposed to wait until your BFF arrives?"

"Um, yeah?" the 2. Bundesliga side laughs, glaring at RB with his wine-colored eyes, "Don't worry, Soda, you're lucky he's a better runner than you in the DFB Cup."

"Don't remind me," the 2009-born club seethes.

Thankfully, before Dresden could rub more salt on his wounds, St. Pauli and the volleyball arrive. "'Sup?"

SGD smirks at him. "Everything's good, except these two," he answers, pointing at him and Ingolstadt condescendingly.

"Nice one," Pauli grins, then pauses when he saw RB's face. "Oh wait, is this new?"

Leipzig grits his teeth. He shouldn't have got a septum piercing right before a gathering attended by a bunch of righteous _Traditionsvereine_...

"Of course it is," Dresden answers, "can we touch it, Soda?"

"Please?" his friend adds, pouting so hard it gives _Die Schanzer_ a run for his money, "With a bull's head on top?"

The newly-promoted Bundesligist snaps at that. "Fuck off!"

Without waiting for the two assholes - or Ingolstadt - to respond, he turns on his heel, all too happy to move on to bigger things.

 _The Bundesliga is waiting, Leipzig,_ he tells himself, a friendly wave from Wolfsburg and his _Werksklub_ Squad tugging the edges of his lips upwards,  _don't look back._

_Don't. Look. Back._

 

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Freiburg sang in the beginning was Unduzo's "Erste Liga". It's an upbeat a capella song with a fun music video, you should check it out! :D
> 
> Till next time,  
> freibulous
> 
> P.S.:  
> 1\. I think I cut about 2,500 words from the original version of this chapter, but I'm happier to leave it this way. A simple, focused welcoming for the Aufsteiger is better than another 'gathering' chapter, which is long-winded and boring (and confusing for new readers, which I'd like to avoid.)
> 
> 2\. Many things happened between Gladbach's birthday and this update, one of which is the start of college. Since I'm supposed to study, I can't update as much as I did in high school, and I apologize for that, but don't worry, you can still find me on Instagram (@freibulous_) and Twitter (Personal: @freibulous, Football: @freibulous72). Oh, and my art is featured here! ;D http://www.unusualefforts.com/rb-leipzig-love/


	31. Art: Endlich wieder Bundesliga!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matchday 1: Where Bayern thrashed Bremen (as expected) and Hoffenheim's banners made headlines in El Plastico.

_Bayern München 6-0 Werder Bremen_

_TSG 1899 Hoffenheim 2-2 RB Leipzig_


	32. Freunde hinter Stacheldraht (Part 1 preview)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you a story about Union and Hertha, two clubs united in a city torn apart...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this to celebrate the 26th anniversary of German reunification - I hope you enjoy this chapter despite its shortcomings.

Union - or as he was known before, TSC Berlin - arrives home from training covered in an extra sheen of sweat, thanks in no small part to the news buzzing on everyone’s television set:  _Bundesliga. Tonight._

 _The Wall might not fall now_ , he grins, throwing himself onto his couch with a beer in hand, _but I have a good feeling about this…_

* * *

 Ninety minutes later, in the West, another Berlin club rejoices at her one-all draw. The first matchday for West Germany’s national league is finished. But will it change everything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the full story on http://www.unusualefforts.com/union-berlin-hertha-personification/ :)
> 
> ~
> 
> Hello, dear readers...
> 
> I'm so, so sorry for not updating for a month! Since uni started, I barely had time for Bundeslihaha as I had a shit ton of homework and extracurricular activities... not to mention my health :/ It's nothing life-threatening, but it got in the way for quite a long time :( I'm feeling better, though. Hopefully, I'll be able to resume writing my pet project after midterms end :)
> 
> As for the fact that this isn't really a chapter, well... it's not that I don't love you guys over here in AO3, it's just that I think spreading my wings would help me grow both as a writer and a person, so now, not only I shared a part of my universe to unusualefforts.com, Bundeslihaha is now also featured on freshgegenpress.com/bundeslihaha.html! it's updated weekly, and has reached Chapter 2 so far ;)
> 
> Pros of reading this fic in Fresh Off The Gegenpress:
> 
> \+ A bio section for the cast  
> \+ More illustrations for every chapter, both digital and traditional ones  
> \+ A database of my art since the Bundesliga Project era (i.e. late 2014)  
> \+ Hundreds of football articles besides Bundeslihaha by yours truly AND other authors, which are not limited to German football :D  
> \+ EVERYTHING IS FREE!!!
> 
> So that's that, I suppose :) I hope you understand why I did this.
> 
> As ever, thank you for staying with me thus far!
> 
> With 'echte Liebe',  
> freibulous


	33. Freunde hinter Stacheldraht (Part 2 preview)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four years have passed since Hertha BSC crossed the border to meet FC Union. They have grown close since then, but like every friendship, trials await these two Berlin clubs…

December 23rd, 1980

 _Out of everything he could send me,_ Hertha BSC chuckles at the open package in her hands, _he sent me an ugly dress._ ** _Again._**

It’s not like the Old Lady is _that_ fashionable for Western standards, but after four years of going back and forth from her Olympic Stadium to his  _Alten Försterei_ , she at least expects her friend to remember that she’s visiting him as a football fan and not a Communist aunt who was forced to defect.

“You could’ve sent me East German marks, Union,” she shakes her head, clicking her tongue in mild disapproval at the mass-produced abomination, “could’ve saved me a lot of money…”

Actually, she thinks, recalling her expensive candlelight dinner in Munich and the bouquet of blue roses from Baden (she still has no clue how her not-quite-boyfriend got ahold of those), that’s not true.

She has a ridiculously wealthy friend in Bayern München and a ridiculously sweet one in Karlsruher SC, but she can’t ask for their help. Not when she’s been declining their Christmas invitations, with their implications of cuddling in front of a fireplace before – she stops herself, just in time.

The _Absteiger_ sighs as guilt worms its way into her heart. Why must she fall in love – in _lust_ – with not one, but two clubs at once? She wishes nothing more to turn her fantasies into reality, to just let herself go, yet, she finds herself unable. Not when it would be at the expense of the other’s feelings.

That’s not the only reason she’s refusing them, though (except for that one time when she and Karlsruhe found themselves alone in his home, Wildparkstadion… but then again, she hadn’t thought her fans would strike a friendship with the Reds’ supporters). Everything is uncertain now, even her Bundesliga fan friendships. Somewhere deep inside, she knows – soon she’ll be sleeping with the enemy, bedding down with Stuttgart and 1860, and no one will bat an eye. Their dynamic ‘capitalist mentality’ makes sure of that.

But with Union, no matter what atrocities they face, she feels secure.

The thought of the younger Berliner elicits a small smile from her, and she rummages through the package once more. Her eyes light up when her fingers close around an envelope.

_Dear Hertha,_

Somehow, she can almost hear his voice – friendly yet hushed, as if the secret police could hear his comments from a country away,

_Sorry to hear about your relegation! I wish we could’ve stayed up. But I kinda expected it for myself, so I wasn’t too sad. Dynamo wouldn’t shut up about it, though. That bastard._

She can’t help but laugh. ‘Sorry to hear about your relegation’ would be nice to hear at the end of last season, but after the 21st matchday in the second division, it just sounds silly.

_Anyway, how are you?_

She just beat her city rivals TeBe Berlin 2-0, so ‘never better’.

_I hope you’re doing great, or at least better than Chemie Leipzig._

_Damn,_ she shudders. _What now?_

_They caught him and his fans smuggling stuff to Hannover a week ago, and… let’s just say he’s not the same. He can’t even walk right anymore **.**_

Her heart stops. Union often tells her stories of reckless personifications and fans punished in horrific ways, warnings to their already cash-strapped, repressed clubs, but it still infuriates her. How could they? Don’t they have a conscience?

_…sorry, got carried away._

She glares, hot tears still stinging her eyes.

_I didn’t write you a long-ass letter to tell you about the millionth fucked up ‘incident’ at my place…_

Of course you didn’t.

_In fact, I wrote this to tell you I’m really excited about tomorrow!_

Her anger fades away.

_We’ve prepared something special for you Herthaners, so don’t you dare sleep in – we’ll be waiting!_

_Union_

_P.S. Merry Christmas! Hope you like the dress!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the full story on http://www.unusualefforts.com/union-berlin-hertha-2/ :)


	34. Matchday 11 Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starring Dortmund and Köln with Bayern and RB Leipzig as side characters (sort of)… maybe I’ll make a proper chapter for them sometime, but that time isn’t now as it’s 3:41 AM xD
> 
> (Edited 29.5.17.)

Westfalenstadion, Dortmund

November 19, 2016

 

“We won!” Borussia Dortmund cried, snaking his arm around his best friend’s torso as they made their way out of his home, “We won, Effzeh!”

1\. FC Köln broke into a wide smile before doing the same. “Congrats,” the Cologne native said warmly, “your boys were awesome!”

“I know, right?” Dortmund laughed, raising his recently-refilled beer glass to the air with his free hand, “And you! _Derbysieger!_ That was fucking epic, man!”

“I aim to please, _Schatzi_ ,” Köln winked, pointing finger guns at the personification of the home team.

Dortmund not-so-gently elbowed him on the side. “Shut up!”

As soon as they were out of the Signal Iduna Park’s parking lot, Köln realized something...

“…the look on Neuer’s face was priceless! Effzeh? Köln? Are you listening?”

“Oh! Um, I…” Köln paused. “Yesterday, on the derby…”

“Yeah?”

“We were on the bench together, right? And then we celebrated with the team,” the Rhine club continued, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, yeah, that was fun!” Dortmund said cheerfully, “I can’t believe none of them said anything! I mean, I don’t even look like any of your coaching staff!”

“Well, um –‘’

The blonde puts his index finger on Köln’s mouth. “Zzzt! I’d love to do it again one day. Going undercover makes me feel so badass!”

Köln looked up at his friend, jaw dropped. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Heh?” Dortmund raised an eyebrow, so high it reminded him of Carlo Ancelotti, “Why should I be mad?”

“Y’know,” he mumbled, “for making you watch from the stands with me. And… I wasn’t even close to the Yellow Wall…” He trailed off. Damn, he’d been so unfair… should’ve bought tickets earlier… why hadn’t he gotten himself a season ticket anyway?! He’d made a promise to himself to do so since the start of their friendship, for fuck’s sake!

“Oh…” _Die Schwarzgelben_ chuckled. “That."

Köln nodded.

"If I say I had absolutely no problem with that, are you gonna be offended?”

Köln's jaw dropped.

“Dude, I’m serious! Relax!” Dortmund replied, bending down to his eye level, “It’s not the _Revierderby_! And besides, you get to stay the night at my house. This weekend’s gonna rock. I can already feel it.”

Köln’s red eyes met his dark ones, wide and hopeful. “You mean it?”

The older club nodded. “I mean it. We can even cuddle and stuff on my bed if you want to.”

“’And stuff’?” Köln couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s rare.”

Dortmund’s face went red. “Yeah, well, it’s been a long time.”

“Didn’t you and Freiburg…”

“Freiburg?” the taller man cried, “Are you shitting me? We literally broke up four years ago!”

Köln flashed him a teasing smirk as they walked around the bend a few hundred meters from his house. “Are you sure?”

“Dude,” he said flatly, “I can barely understand her dialect. If she asked me to sleep with her recently, I must’ve missed it.”

“Okay, I believe you,” _Die Geissb_ _ö_ _cke_ replied, taking longer strides to match his quickening steps, “but didn’t you two talk at all when you were _lovers_?”

“You’re unbelievable,” he groaned.

“Just asking,” Köln grinned. “Do you understand Karlsruhe, though? I mean, he’s–"

“Goddammit, Effzeh!” He cut in, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. “You don’t need to know my whole dating history!”

Köln clutched his heart, mock-offended. “You’re so mean.”

“If you weren’t my best friend, I’d kill you,” he grumbled.

“Thank god I am,” the younger club snickered. They’d arrived in front of Dortmund’s house, but that didn’t mean this had to end… “Hey, Dortmund. Now I can’t help but think you have a thing for Badenians–!”

Köln’s joke was roughly interrupted by Dortmund’s lips on his and _oh god this is so good I have to kiss him back_ , so he stood on his toes and reciprocated the gesture with equal passion, hands clutching the taller man’s back so tightly he felt they would fuse, and just when he thought he couldn’t be weaker in the knees, his friend let him breathe for a second before switching to painfully short pecks, traveling from his lips to his goatee to his neck to–

Dortmund pulled away, heaving, while Köln just gawked at him.

“I prefer _K_ _ölner_ ,” the Ruhr club said in between gasps, “they’re better at kissing.” He then paused, breaths slowing with every second that passed. “Uh, wanna go to my room? We can cuddle and stuff.”

The redhead beamed at his offer. “Lead the way.”

* * *

The next day…

 

Köln watched his friend slowly stir, smiling at just how cute he looked without his ridiculous boyband-member-style clothes.

“Ugh…” Dortmund groaned, rubbing sleep off of his eyelids, “what time is it?”

“7 AM,” he half-sighed, slightly disappointed that he had to see the older club fully dressed again, “don’t worry, I just finished taking a shower, so you’re not that late.”

Dortmund yawned. “Oh… good...” Then, as almost everyone (including him, to be honest) would do in 2016, the blonde reached out for the phone on his nightstand, unlocking the screen and checking notifications with deft fingers.

The usual order, Köln might say.

But then, all of the sudden, Dortmund threw his phone against the far wall with a scream, its thick casing the only thing stopping it from breaking into pieces.

Confused, Köln shifted closer to the now sobbing club, pulling him into a hug when he started crying louder. “Dortmund, what’s wrong?”

Dortmund buried his face in his hands. “Just… just read… my password’s 1909.”

At any other time, the Rhine club would playfully mock his friend for the ridiculously easy PIN, but now, he simply did what he was told… and promptly lost his faith in humanity.

_Read all 80 comments_

**_Konigsblau04_ ** _Great job, Zecken! #RIPBundesliga_

 **_stpauli_1910_ ** _#RIPbundesliga_

 **_dyncmodresden_ ** _#RIPBundesliga_

 **_SterndesSuedens_ ** _Congrats for giving Red Bull 1 st place lol_

 **_sechzig.and.i.know.it_ ** _butthurt? @SterndesSuedens_

 **_Karlsruh__ ** _german football is dead #prozweiteliga_

 **_GoodCannstatt_ ** _#RIPBundesliga_

 **_WasZumRoteTeufel_ ** _#RIPBundesliga FUCK U @echtelieber_

 **_rotebullenschweine_ ** _hey thanks @echtelieber! #geschichteschreiben #ripbundesliga #deutschermeister2k17_

 **_eisernunion1966_ ** _#RIPBundesliga_

After a few minutes of scrolling and holding back profanities, he went back to Dortmund’s side. “Should I block them?”

Dortmund’s answer came in the form of a blanket-muffled ‘no’.

“No?” Köln asked.

“No, they’ll probably shut up tomorrow,” his friend sighed, more clearly now as he’d put his covers away from his face, “but thanks, Effzeh.”

“Anytime.”

 

fin

* * *

Bonus:

I wanted to draw the kissing scene from the chapter, but I thought it’s cuter if Koeln sits on BVB’s lap… so yeah. Here it is. It’s also a cell-shading practice, so pardon the weird coloring! xD


	35. Art: Happy birthday, Nils Petersen!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Freiburg fan favorite turns 28 today! May he stay healthy and regain his 2015/16 form!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's also Jean Zimmer (VfB Stuttgart)'s birthday. Have a great one!

_ _

_“Oh, and here’s a gift to the birthday boy!”_  
“Freiburg, I’m 28.”  
“I’m 112, Nils! I have every right to call you my birthday boy!”  
“Heh, alright!” *laughs*

As for his former teams, Werder sends his derby hero a text or two, Energie Cottbus a tearful video call, and Bayern just shrugs, focusing on the Champions League match against Atletico Madrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (smol freiburg is smol :3)
> 
> As usual, sketched with a 2B pencil, traced with a 0.3 gel pen, and colored with watercolors on A4/70 gsm paper.  
> Also, happy Nikolaustag to my German followers! :D


	36. True Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anti-third kit propaganda piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeey. Sorry for disappearing, dudes and dudettes. I got a job as a journalist for Football Tribe Indonesia! Check that website out, if you want. I'm on an exam break from the job, though.

Augsburg, November 19, 2016

 

There wasn't much to hate about Augsburg, Hertha thought as she walked behind her boys to the end of Schwabenstadion's tunnel. He was a nice enough person, a manageable opponent, and more importantly, a true _Traditionsverein_.

So when he cringed at her team's bright pink third jersey, she beamed. "I know," she snickered, "I wonder if the fans are gonna comment on this." And his hideous neon yellow kit too, definitely.

"Of course," Augsburg replied before looking back ahead.

 _Dammit, now this I dislike,_ Hertha thought, clenching her fists,  _Is small talk so hard, Augsie?_

"Hey," she called after a long, awkward silence. It got his attention. "Worst of luck!"

In 'response', Augsburg pursed his lips into a tense expression that was probably meant to be a smile.

But then, when they walked into the pitch, he smiled _for real_ , and when she looked at what he saw, she smiled, too.

* * *

**HERTHA BSC, NUR ECHT IN BLAU-WEISS!**

_ROT-GRÜN-WEISS SIND EURE FARBEN!_

**_VEREINE MÜSSEN AUTENTISCH BLEIBEN!_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (bold is the FCA fans and italic is the Herthaners):  
> \- Hertha BSC, only real in blue and white!  
> \- Red, green, and white, those are your colors!  
> \- Clubs must stay authentic!  
> I found pics of the banners on Legio Augusta's website: http://augsburg.original1907.de/
> 
> Why did I write this chapter? Well, exactly the same reason why these fans protested. Third kits are becoming increasingly ridiculous nowadays, and frankly, they're unnecessary. Why can't away kits use the club's secondary color(s)? Why didn't Hertha make their away kits dark blue (like last season) instead of plain white so they can wear it in the Schwabenstadion (WWK Arena)? I mean, that'd contrast Augsburg's white home kits just fine.
> 
> It's for commercial reasons, probably. So they can expand their collection or whatever. Blech. So hipster. Sadly, I know these protests won't be heard by the high-ups (just like the ones about 50+1 or ticket prices lol), but it never hurts to try!


	37. UCL Special: 10-2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arsenal Football Club laments his bad luck (again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, because I missed you all! Enjoy <3

Arsenal can't believe he lost to that German bastard with the same scoreline _thrice in a row._

Not to mention it was the biggest aggregate loss for any English club - it's not a record he wanted to break, to say the least. To say the most: that arrogant bitch had better lose the next round, preferably 'helped' by those wankers calling themselves referees. _I hope she gets Real or Barca, that always worked in the Guardiola era! It'd be fucking sweet._

...

 _Who am I kidding,_ the Londoner grumbles inwardly, knowing the ref's calls hadn't been _that_ dubious,  _this whole club is a mess_ _..._

 _And_ I'm _an utter mess._ He eyes the half-drunk beer in his hand and tries to feel through the haziness - it fucking _burns_ and his nose is still runny and his jacket and scarves don't help at all, it feels like someone's been sucking his soul liter by liter or whatever the fuck you measure energy with.

 _Maybe,_ he thinks, eyelids drooping,  _I sold my soul to the devil when we became the Invincibles... maybe I sold Arsene's soul, too. That would've sucked - no,_ he corrects himself,  _that_ sucks _. Present goddamn tense._ _Because we've legit stagnated._

Head pounding at the memory of the millionth fan protest in front of Ashburton Grove, he lets the plastic glass fall from his hand, spilling beer all over his jacket _._

Guess all his probs lead to Wenger, huh.

What would he be without his beloved coach, though? Arsenal,  _Arsene_ al, the lines have blurred long ago-

 _Ah, fuck it,_ Arsenal huffs, closing his eyes without a care for his beer-soaked clothes, his fever, or the smell of his own sweat,  _I'm too drunk to be philosophical anyway._

* * *

 Even drunk, forgetting that he always was too something to be philosophical seemed awfully convenient.

Who knows? Perhaps all this suffering has become Arsenal's comfort zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About this amazing(ly predictable) fixture... it's ironic how on International Women's Day, all I see is memes about how Bayern 'raped' Arsenal (who's always portrayed as a weak/hypersexualized woman)... disgusting. But that's our lot in life, right? Being a woman is a huge mistake. Don't be a woman, kids.
> 
> Anyway, here's a longer explanation for my disappearance...
> 
> Let's get to the point - I have depression. As you probably know, writing doesn't really cross your mind when you're trying to off yourself (or just can't get out of bed, sometimes). I'm slowly getting back up, though. My life isn't even half as 'good' as it was 'before', but I have a job now, an actual job with a salary and stuff, and I'm (trying to be) a better, more respectful person. It's a long process. And I haven't gotten help yet for fear of... a lot, really. You have probably had enough of my whining, haha! So. Here are links to my other websites (where I'm a lot more active on):
> 
> http://freibulous.tumblr.com (personal Tumblr with links to more social media, including my articles)  
> http://bundeslihaha.tumblr.com (would be awesome if you check this first, because I've posted lots of art!)  
> http://freibulousfiction.tumblr.com (OC blog - for non-gijinkas only!)  
> http://freibulous.deviantart.com (for both art and Bundeslihaha in case you prefer DA's formatting)  
> http://instagram.com/freibulous (SFW art account)  
> http://instagram.com/nsfw_youvebeenwarned (NSFW art)
> 
> If you want to contact me personally (for inquiries/corrections/chat/vent or maybe befriend/jokingly flirt with me), ask for my Discord via Tumblr PM! I'd be happy to have you.
> 
> Oh, and of course, thanks a million for staying with me and supporting me thus far! Yes, ALL of you, from commenters to kudos givers to silent readers, old and new! I love you so, so much. You're all beyond amazing. Without your support, I wouldn't have gotten this far... so once again, I thank you from the depths of my heart.
> 
> See you next time (or on other websites!)
> 
> P.S.: You know what comes after this, don't you? Yes! The linear arc you've been waiting for, "The Reveal", will start next chapter! Whoo! Who's excited? I certainly am!


	38. UCL Special: Real Madrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his totally deserved win against FC Bayern, Real Madrid gets a phone call. Guess who it is.

Real Madrid C.F. had just finished taking a celebratory team photo after his _totally deserved win, thank you very much!_  when he felt something vibrate in his jeans, so hard that he jumped higher than he thought was possible.

“Whoa, what’s wrong, man?” one of his boys asked, snickering.

When he landed, he couldn’t help but join in the laughter - he was on top of the world, now, on the road to his twelfth European title, maybe he’d even be the first to-

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzzzzzzzt._

_Oh, yeah, the call,_ he berated himself, pulling his phone out of his jean pocket. It was probably Perez, in which case, he was fucked unless he answer this instant. _Click._

“Sorry, sir,” he said without preamble, “I was-”

“Is this Real Madrid?”

Wait, who the hell was he talking to? He didn’t recognize that voice. _And I don’t recognize this number, either,_ he thought as he looked at the screen, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He knew +49 was the country code for Germany, though. Was this some German fangirl? No wonder that accent sounded familiar. He asked his caller as much, with a note of seduction for good measure.

“Fangirl? You wish!” The voice on the other end spat.

“Who are you, then?!” he demanded, planting his phone-free fist on his hip.  _I’m having a celebration here!_

“1860 Munich,” she replied, less sharply now (although it was like nails scraping on a whiteboard in comparison to his own, perfectly civil tone), “Just wanted to thank you for kicking Bayern’s ass.”

“1860 who?” he asked, vague memories of the past resurfacing, but he still didn’t quite remember her.

“Bayern’s nightmare, kicked your ass in 1966,” she said haughtily, like she just memorized the European Cup Wikipedia page or some shit. “But you could’ve said ‘you’re welcome’, you know. _Guessthebastardwasrightforonce!”_

_“What?”_

The girl only scoffed at him. “Forget I said anything. Good-fucking-night!”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she’d already hung up. _Fuck you too,_ he grumbled inwardly. _Whoever she is, she’s probably irrelevant._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s 100% true, because he immediately forgot about her the moment he rejoined the celebrations. Sorry, Sechzig! ;P


	39. The End (and a new beginning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two and a half years, the last chapter of Bundeslihaha is finally here. But is it the end of this series as we know it? Of course not! Read more to find out...

So, this is it, huh?

After two and a half years, this story has come to an end.

I'm really sorry I couldn't give you a farewell chapter, but burned out as I am, I really don't know what to write...

Anyway, I've come a long way, haven't I? At least I think so. I'm not that try-hard, sexist bandwagon anymore. I've grown as a writer, as a football fan, and as a person.. and I must say, I'm damn proud of myself! But of course I didn't get there alone. You, my lovely readers, were a huge help, and for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support kept me going on. You gave me a reason to live despite the shit going on in my life.

Now, now, don't cry! Although  _this_ Bundeslihaha is finished, I have more in store for my pet project!

What is it, you ask? A **rewrite** , of course!

Thanks to my first reviewer, Straighttothepoint, I realized that my decilining productivity stems from Bundeslihaha's lack of direction, and I wanted so badly to change it. My first effort was  _The Reveal_ , but the previous chapters don't really support that plotline, and then, there's also the problem of bad character design (or at least, they don't sit well with me anymore), and personalities that don't fit the clubs in the slightest. In my opinion, Bundeslihaha's format (non-linear, reaction-type shorts) fits the comic format more (a good example of this is  _Pre-Match Syndrome_ by my friend [LittleLadyPunk](http://littleladypunk.tumblr.com)), and to make  _The Reveal_  work, I have to retcon everything... but ain't nobody got time for that, right? Thus, the idea of writing a new story from scratch was born.

This rewrite, which has the working title  _Bundeslihaha Redux_ , will have a linear plot based on the idea of  _The Reveal_ , with an emphasis on the clubs' 'human side'. I won't spoil you the whole thing, but I think you've seen the hints I've sprinkled throughout the [main](http://bundeslihaha.tumblr.com) and [ask blog](http://ask-the-bavarian-clubs.tumblr.com) ;)

But for those of you who are new, don’t worry about being left in the dark! As I develop  _Bundeslihaha Redux_ , I’ll keep you posted on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/freibulous) and the official Bundeslihaha Tumblr, hopefully regularly, if work/illness/family don’t get in the way.

Ultimately, my target is to finish at least half the story on **14 September 2017** (Bundeslihaha’s third anniversary, to be exact), so wish me luck, dearest followers, and thank you so much for staying with me thus far! ❤

 

Yours truly,

freibulous


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